Crooked Picture TLLaCG
by spittlepig
Summary: [American Outlaws] Kay, now it has snowballed into me beating the she-ite out of the James' BROTHERS...
1. Horses On Fire

TITLE = Crooked Picture : The Last Lullaby at Cattletongue Gallows  
AUTHOR = Ananova Crowe  
SUMMARY = fiction with some splurges of fact...  
PLEASE = review, i'm starting to think you don't love me... :(  
  
CROOKED PICTURE : THE LAST LULLABY OF CATTLETONGUE GALLOWS  
Chapter one - Horses on Fire  
  
It had been an ambush. Neither of them had seen it coming. They couldn't of. It was all over within the bruise of an eye. And the crack of a broken jaw.  
It was some rowdies Rains had commissioned. To clean up his nasty work. The fattiest, greasiest men he could pay. A few with missing teeth. Some with shit-for-brains. And all of them with ready guns at itchy fingers.   
Jesse'd forgotten how long they'd ridden by now. Not that he was in the state of mind to do so. But when the thought did cross his mind, it was fleeting.   
With wrists bound too tightly to the saddle horn, Jesse bounced with the uneven strides of the skittish horse. Its flanks occasionally stuck with a vengeful rifle butt to make it kick and toss him around, pulling his wrists to their extent. Blood washed down his face, cuts, swells, and bruises covering his purple and bloodied face like a painting. His right eye was hidden beneath a wash of pure red blood, let loose from a slash across the brow by a knife, which had been licked clean soon after.   
The horse he barely had enough energy to straddle jumped back and forth between the forced horses that crowded and pushed in tightly around it. Its raw and sun-blistered hide bit at and kicked at by the others, driving it to its limit. But only to be caught and held by the leader of the group.  
An unnamed holy-pilgrim who was Hell walking. A preacher turned desperado by the fiery chasms from below. A human vulture with one eye like cold steel and the other branded dead and white with a cross. His sun-leathered face shown thick and brown beneath his hat, shadowed by a shade of thick, black stubble along his cracked skin.  
With a whistle and a kick, the horses sped up again on command. Jesse's deadened body jerking back and forth atop his horse as occasional drunken swings came to soften his face. He flopped back and forth between fists, sporadically taking a boot to the shin or knee, bruising what wasn't bleeding.  
His head bounced, half-conscious eyes spilling onto that of his beautiful wife. Her head bent, her clothes torn, her hair shorn short with the same blade that cut his brow. The cut hair glistened as it stuck out of the posse leader's jacket pocket, tied together with twine.  
Her lithe body wrapped tightly in his arms. Not Jesse's. Sweet, strawberry blood dying her face and clothes. Her head bounced back against the man's shoulder, blue eyes swollen with tears of defeat as they rolled to face Jesse's.  
It can't end like this. Not like this.   
Suddenly, with the raise of a fist from the leader, the posse slowed to a stop at a thin streambed, beneath an old, thick tree. The leader ordered the dismount and everyone did, except for Jesse. Instead, he slumped forward on the horse, unable to bear his own weight anymore.   
"Think the Lord walks here tonight boys?" The leader bellowed in a raspy, sand-stolen voice as he dismounted his horse, the beaten Zee lying still in his arms.  
"Smells like he does." One member sniffed gently and sneered as he grabbed hold of the reigns of Jesse's underfed horse and led it beneath the tree.  
Jesse gurgled up some blood as he spoke. "You're smelling yourself dumb shit." But he cried out as the man took a handful of hair and wrenched his head back, exposing his throat to a rusted blade. "What the hell did you just say you son of a bitch?"  
"Steady down now boys," the leader said gently, leaving Zee to lie on the ground as he came over, pushing down the man's bladed hand while looking into Jesse's eyes the entire time.   
The cross-branded leader put a gloved hand around the back of Jesse's neck as the bladed man slunk off snickering.   
The man pulled Jesse in close to his mouth, his bloodied ear touched by the man's hooked nose. "'The fool hath said in his heart. There is no God.' Is this what you believe son?"  
Jesse turned his dark eyes to face the man's white and gray ones, a coy look playing at his lips.  
"Yes." He whispered back, a smile curling his lips higher.  
The leader leaned back.  
"Looks like we got ourselves a lost sheep, what'ya say we help him find his way home?" There was uproar from the brigands.   
"We'll be sending him with the Lord Almighty later tonight boys. Let's wait until we've all gotten good and rested, eh? Let's get a fire going."  
  
Jesse watched painfully as the leader sat with Zee curled in his lap, her head against his chest, with his hands at her waist and breast. She'd been broken like a doll, the very life of her torn away to leave nothing but the shell of a woman that was no more.  
The leader hummed softly against her head, occasionally bending his lips to kiss her disheveled hair and turning his eyes to watch Jesse writhe from the horsetop.  
The other men, meanwhile, had all been getting drunk for the past hours, dancing and laughing and falling all over the place. Almost to the point where they couldn't tell their boots from their pistols until they realized that boots wouldn't shoot those who made them angry. And Jesse watched it all hopelessly, as he sunk deeper and deeper into himself to try and escape. But there was no escape.  
  
"You see the way he's eyeballin' me Roy? Looks like the devil's gotten into him." A drunk whispered to another, who was halfway passed out anyway. Their eyes roamed over Jesse like the wind, an irregular glass eyeball jumping out of its place in the midst of the stare. "Lucky I caught in time." The man slurred, pushing his unruly eyeball back in before he made his way over to the leader, stopping at his side and unzipping his pants, relieving himself right then and there all while talking.  
"Hey boss. The devil's gotten into our boy, don'tchya think it's time we sent this abomin- ation to the good Lord now?"  
"That's a mighty big word you just said, Cort. The Lord would be proud. Be careful though, you're pissin' on yer shoes."  
"Aw shit!" Cort cursed as he moved himself.  
Smiling slightly, the cross-branded leader rose from the ground, laying Zee down near the fire as he came towards Jesse.  
"Clean off yer boots and get out my branding iron. It's time for some credentials to be put down."   
The drunken men immediately stopped what they were doing and turned their attention towards Jesse and the leader.  
"String him up!" Yelled a drunken man from Jesse's side.  
He cinched his jaw and eyes as his head was pulled back again by the hair, the prickly slap of a noosed rope hitting the side of his face as he fought with the little energy he had. The skinny horse beneath him did the same, trying to free itself from the mass of men surrounding it, grabbing at its rider.  
Finally, with the rope tightened extremely tight around his neck, chafing and swelling his skin, they stepped back slightly into a circle around him, although one man stayed.  
"Come on you sorry sonnovabitches!" A hefty man's voice came from his side. "Hold his arms down so's I can get his hands undone from the saddle." And soon, stronger hands pinned his down painfully as a large, rough pair of shaking, intoxicated hands fumbled at the knots binding his wrists.  
"Aw leave 'em alone, Dog, yer never gonna git 'em in the position yer in, just leave it." Another man chimed in from the side, but was immediately yelled down.  
"Hell naw, you drunken bastard! That them there's MY saddle and come Hell or high water, I'm taken it!" He worked at the knots again, before giving up shortly with a curse.  
But, with a snort of defiance, and a quick wipe of the snot that just came out of his nose, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a switchblade, flipping it out and shoving it into the knot, and Jesse's hands.  
Jesse cried out.  
"Aw shut up!" the man roared as her worked at both flesh and rope harshly, cutting away the layers of the ropes while spilling more blood, until finally the ropes fell away from the saddle horn.   
Blood poured from his hands, spilling all over the saddle and dribbling across the man's shoulders as he forced them behind Jesse's back with another cry of pain and rebound them, even tighter than before. His fingertips soon turned purple while curled fists turned dead white, blood no longer circulating.   
He could do nothing but hope as he felt his body forcefully shifted off the saddle to slide back perilously onto the horse's rump, a deadly position with the rope pulled tight already and the ground so far away.  
From the group of men all watching as "Dog" came back to them with the saddle, another voice became known.   
"When one walks through the land of the dead, he don't need his wallet..." A tall, thin man ambled forward, long limbs waving as he reached forcefully into Jesse's back pocket and pulled out his leather wallet, unfastening the buttons and checking inside. He pulled out a handful of bills and shoved them up into the air with a shout, immediately followed by a tackle from a couple other members of the greedy group.   
Then, a heavy-bodied man with a rolling walk and cock-eye lurched towards him, stooping to pick up the red-hot cross branding iron that had been heating in the fire. A sick smile caressed his yellow and rotting teeth, exposing them to the light.   
The fat man licked his lips. "Whatdoyou say boss? You think the good Lord needs to know who belongs in his Holy flock now when they're sent up to Him?"  
"I think that's a mighty fine assumption Mr. McCarthy. Would you like to do the honors o' helpin' the Almighty Lord with sortin' 'em out?"  
"I'd be honored." With a tip of his hat and another flash of yellow smile, McCarthy came close, then beckoned the one who'd stolen Jesse's saddle to come help. "Dog? Git over here."  
Dog came forward slowly, timidly, with the saddle straddling his arm and his eyes suspicious of an attack, like one that had befallen the tall man who now lay bruised and poor on the ground.   
"Cut off his shirt." The fat man ordered, and Dog obliged, flipping out his snot-covered switchblade before timidly setting down the saddle. He fought against the strange angle Jesse's body was in as he pulled the shirt up over Jesse's head and slid it down to his wrists, before slicing it in half, letting it fall. Then he gathered up his saddle and retreated back into the pulsing crowd that surrounded them all, waiting for their turn.   
The fat man rolled back on his heels for a moment before coming forward and drawing a fat finger down Jesse's arm, trailing off to let it run down his side.  
"Such a beautiful sin, truly the Lord had no hand in creating you. For you are as tempting as the apple Eve pulled from the tree..." Jesse turned and kicked the man hard in the kidney, a strong kick that sent the man backward to the ground.  
With a grunt, the man rolled and came to a stop, before righting himself with hatred brewing in his eyes. "But a sin you are. Go back to perdition, you iniquity! Know your place under the eyes of the Lord!"  
And like that, he flew forward with great speed, re-grasping the handle of the branding iron as he came, shoving the searing metal into Jesse's side.  
Jesse screamed. Zee only twitched beside the flames of the fire.  
Jesse collapsed over himself as the pain took him, engulfing him with an invisible fire and turning his courage to ashes.  
"Enough!" Bellowed the cross-branded leader said, stepping in and pressing back the men. "If allaya gentlemen are done now, we can git on to the best part o' the deal, besides the pay." There was a muddled laugh from the group before he announced to an uproar. "Giving God back His sins!" He strode around Jesse's horse, coming to his side and reaching up to grab his chin, shaking it towards the crowd. "And I choose ME to do the honors!"  
"No..." came a voice from the background. And the bandits split like swinging doors on a bar, pulling apart to expose the curled form of Zee who still lay against the ground near the fire.   
"What was that?" The leader leaned forward and put a hand around his ear.   
"Leave my husband alone..." she choked out through a strickened throat.  
"Aw, darlin'," the leader sauntered and skipped forward much to the approval of his crowd. "We were just havin' a bit o' fun." He bent down and gathered her up from the ground, holding her against his shoulder as he spread his other arm wide in the direction of Jesse.   
"What do you think lads? Should we put this naughty little bird in a cage?" Hoots and jeers came from the group, some gnashing their teeth while others growled like dogs.  
"Alright then! Bring a horse!" Many men jumped into action, pulling forward a reluctant red horse whose hair shimmered gold in the firelight. The leader stepped forward, lifting his gloved hand to stroke the horse's long nose, getting it to bow its head into his hands, cradling Zee against his chest. Before he reached up with the rifle and fired.  
Zee fell to her knees as the horse whined and collapsed in front of her, blood pouring from its head as huge, black, glassy eyes stared at her without seeing.  
Not able to stand it, Zee stumbled away with her hand over her mouth. Holding back the vomit that was not to be held back, and she collapsed to her knees, puking. Then, she toppled over onto her side, wanting it all to just end.  
Handing off the gun to another man, the leader gave his orders, suddenly not finding the humor in the prolonged situation as he did before.  
"Hurry up and git the cage ready boys, the Lord's o' waitin' for his sins to come back to Him." And men scurried to do it.   
With a flash and a sickening spill, the horse's belly was sliced and the sloppy spill of pale, wet intestines came rushing into the cool night, sending off licks of steam.   
The men hurried to pull out the guts and organs and spread them around the horse's corpse, prepping "the cage".  
"All right little lady, you hold onto this." The leader sighed and went towards Zee, leaning down over her and handing her a knife, but she didn't take it. So instead, he put it in her hand and closed it for her. "When you feel like talking, just scream." And with a snap of his fingers, two men lifted her body from the ground and carried her towards the disemboweled horse.  
Jesse pulled taught at his noose, choking out words through blistered lips and raw throat. "Zee! Godammnit Zee! Fight back!"  
Suddenly, as if a motor had suddenly kicked in in her head, Zerelda began to fight, starting slow then kicking harder as the smell of intestines and blood invaded her nostrils and throat.  
"No!" she screamed. "Get off me! Get off! Jesse?! Help me!" She fought and tore like hell against them, but was no match as more men came to hold her and shove her into the horse's belly.  
She was crammed up against its spine and bruised by its ribs as they pushed her curled form inside the stinking darkness. "Jesse!! God no!! Jesse?!!?" She screamed and pounded and hacked at the horse's ribs and flesh with her fists and the knife as they began to close her inside of it, resewing the horse's belly back together with a bootlace and knife.  
"Zee!!" Jesse yelled as he fought against the rope. The horse beneath him began forward, but he pulled it to a stop with his heels as it stretched his neck, unable to say or do anymore.  
The men worked excitably as they began gathering sticks and such and laying them around the dead horse and its entrails. And with Zee inside, flashes of the silver blade through horseflesh pierced the night as she tried to slash her way out, but the bones got in the way.  
"If you can get out of there in less than the time it takes for the fire to get you, you're a free woman." The leader said as he pulled a match from his pocket and struck it against the bottom of his boot. The flame ignited his face as he held it up, looking Jesse deadlock in the eyes. Then, impartially, he cast the match into the pile of horse intestines and wood, giving birth to a sickening blue flame that instantly engulfed the whole of the horse.   
"NOOOOO!!" Jesse screamed as he watched Zee's hand burst through the horse's boiling flesh, only to be suddenly eaten by the fire, and heard her scream from inside.  
He could have sworn he heard his name once more from inside before the flames suddenly roared high and engulfed the entire corpse.  
"She's floating with the Lord now son," the leader said, turning to Jesse as tears began to stream down his face, washing away the blood and revealing pummeled skin beneath.  
"Damn you and your Lord." Jesse spit, sending a glob of blood onto the cross of the leader's brand under his white eye. He'd lost his faith in all of about five seconds.  
"That's blasphemy you scumbelly!" The leader cocked his rifle and came forward fast, shoving the rifle end into Jesse's mouth, nearly hitting the back of his throat with it. "You watch your mouth before I blow it off." He took a gloved hand and wiped away the blood-spit, wiping it onto Jesse's pants.  
Anger tinged his seeing eye before he turned towards his eager posse. "I think it's time we turned this non-believer's faith towards the Almighty Lord once again, eh boys?"  
"Time to go a swingin' with He who is above us." The leader said, slowly pulling the rife barrel from Jesse's mouth then leveling it to the flank of the underfed, antsy horse while the other sick men remounted their horses, one having to double up with another.  
"Say hello to that old serpent, called the Devil son, whose number six hundred threescore and six...and leave this Earth without the thought of the Lord on your mind and the breath of God on your skin, for you belong in Hell."   
And Jesse just hung his head. Ready to die.   
"Tell the Beast that Thaddeus Rains sends his condolences."   
With a bang, a pain wracked neigh, and a jostle, Jesse did just that. 


	2. Mouse Proof

CHAPTER TWO - Mouse Proof  
  
He heard silence and felt warmth against a lot of his skin. Which meant he still had it. He slowly felt his body come back to his manipulation, a steady pain coming with it as it swelled in certain areas. Both shoulders, his hands, bruised legs, and all the pain left over to collapse in on his head into a massive, pounding headache.  
Heaven shouldn't be this painful.   
With a groan, he opened what he could of his eyes, flinching back at the stabbing light that shone in on his face. He raised a hand to shade it, only to see it wrapped with a layer of white cloth into a fist.   
He was still alive.  
But where was he? He heard laughter from somewhere outside and he pushed himself up, ignoring the pain and the spinning room as he lashed his head from side to side, trying to find his guns.   
He found them on the bedside table, sitting on top of his cleaned clothes, which left him naked beneath the blankets and quilts that were piled on top of him, making him hot.   
Looking down at himself as he pushed himself out of the covers, Jesse noticed both his shoulders were wrapped with bloodied cloth and his legs were covered in healing bruises and random wrappings of cloth. Someone's handy work to fix up his wounds.  
Was he at Doc Mimms? He looked about the room, nothing hanging on the walls and no furniture. Except for the bed he was sitting in and a nightstand nearby. The room was cramped, the only available sense of space was given to a small window doubtfully big enough for someone could crawl through to get out onto the catwalk along the side of the building. Definitely not Doc Mimms. Zee had crawled out of that window more than a few times with Jesse.  
Jesse's stomach churned as he tried to rise from the bed, and kept on doing so as he stepped out onto the wooden floor. Taking one of his 1851 Colt Navy Revolvers into his bandaged hands, he palmed on the pair of cutoff long underwear that had been laid on the nightstand and shuffled out away from the bed.  
His muscles were extremely weak, beginning to shake slightly as he shuffled himself across the floor, grabbing his clothes as he went. He went towards the small window, forcing it open with his free, weak arm, reveling in the sweet, dry breeze that stirred the stale smell of the room.  
But he paused as he heard light footsteps coming towards the room, pushing back the sickening feeling that suddenly swallowed him, he pushed his stiff body behind the door, trying to keep his head from spinning off his neck.  
From the other side, someone opened the door quietly, humming softly to themselves, but stopped short when they saw the empty room.  
A young woman sauntered in with hips habitually weaving beneath a long, pouting bussel tail ribbon, carrying a large pot filled with water against her hip, getting her side a little wet. She was tall, her long, lithe legs wrapped in black fishnet stockings while a light yellow corset donned with ivory buttons, lace rims, and white satin ribbons squeezed and morphed her body into a voluptuous hourglass shape. Her roving dark eyes were deeply shadowed with black makeup and a shock of long, jet-black hair fell over one bronze, naked shoulder.   
She set down the pot on the floor as she opened the door further, closing Jesse in unseen against the wall. She craned her neck to see if he had somehow fallen out of the bed. But then, she heard the whisper of the curtains from the open window and breathed a sigh of worry, hurrying towards the window, her back exposed to Jesse.  
Pivoting on his heel, he came out from behind the door, flipped his gun over his finger and raised his Colt to the back of her head, watching her stiffen as the weight of the barrel made contact. All the while he was trying to stop the sickness rising inside him with the back of his other hand over his mouth.  
"Blink once, you're dead. Blink twice and you're buried. Who are you?" He could barely get through the sentence as his arm began to weaken, the gun shaking and swaying despite the situation. He watched the expensive green-marble comb pushed into the back of her done up hair, the little swirling flowers stirring the sickness in him.  
"My name's Velvet; it's all right Jesse. You're alright." The harlot said with her hands in the air, long, extravagantly tattooed fingers shifting uncomfortably; marking her as a commodity in from India, a rare and expensive "flower".   
"Turn around," when she didn't, he commanded it. "Turn around dammnit!" Slowly, she did, and Jesse could help but notice the way the corset pushed up her breasts, exposing them to the light from outside.  
"Jesse James," the strumpet whispered gently as he tried to blink away the spots in his eyes. "Put the gun down." She began to move her hands slowly towards him, but he forced the barrel into her face more fervently. "You're hurt Jesse, you need to rest."  
"Shut up...shut up!" Jesse yelled, swallowing the rock in his throat, feeling the sweat run down his forehead and blinking it into his eyes, making them burn. "Who are---where am I?"  
"You're in Cattletongue, Minnesota-" Jesse knitted his eyebrows in confusion before faltering with a gasp, his eyebrows rolling up on his head. Then suddenly, his body switched its weight without his approval, causing him to stumble forward towards the woman before he forced his weakened legs to work backwards away from her again, his back slamming against the door painfully. He forced his legs not to hasp and he shook the dizziness out of his head, raising the gun again.   
"Sit down on the bed."  
"What?"  
"Just do it!" He yelled, forcing the gun into her face before she backed down and started walking backwards towards the bed, knees buckling as she hit the edge.   
"Jesse..." she tried, but he yelled at her again.  
"Shut up! Stop using my name-I don't even know who you are..." His face was screwed tight while forcing to keep the shaking gun pointed at her. He fisted on his pants and boots, cringing as he hit the many bruises and wounds on the way up.  
"Turn around and put your face in the bed."  
"Jesse...you don't need to-"  
"Shut the hell up and do it!" He'd had enough, and she could see it in his eyes.  
Obeying, she turned over on the bed and put her face into the sheets, and after checking that she wasn't peeping or anything, he stumbled around and gathered up the rest of his clothes, pulling them on as fast as he could, trying to not take the gun off her as much as possible. Once he had redone his gun belt and palmed on his hat, he went towards the window, forcing his leg out and with one last look to the woman before he coerced the rest of his aching body out of the tiny little box, narrowly missing a loose nail.  
He was losing balance now and his legs were beginning to give out, throwing him awkward as he used the catwalk's railing to help keep him upright. His vision was beginning to blur too, and he could feel something wet and warm in his ear. Raising his hand to rub at it and bring it back down, he found the back of his hand smeared with blood.  
"Shit..." he cursed as he leaned his body out over the edge of the catwalk, seeing horses tied up to the planks below. It was a long jump down, but he'd be damned if he couldn't make it, or at least try.  
"Frank?!" There came a cry from the woman inside and Jesse began to lose control, raising his gun at the window and stumbling backwards to the end of the catwalk, his breath heavy and his legs useless. "Frank!"  
Suddenly, as Jesse's back tilted against the rail of the catwalk from the sickness that pounded him and spun his body, out over the street, he heard a clatter from inside and saw a blonde bearded head shove itself out the window. It was a handsome face, strong and angular, kind of resembling him. Almost. Then he realized.  
"Jesse?" Frank was shocked, his wide shoulders pushed out of the tiny window painfully as he saw his disheveled brother lean perilously, the gun slipping from his hand and clatter to the scaffold.   
"Frank...?" It was barely a breath as Jesse's body gave out and his eyes rolled up into the back of his head as he collapsed backwards, up over the railing as he began to fall headfirst into the sandy streets below. 


	3. As I Recall With My Stomach

CHAPTER THREE - As I Recall With My Stomach  
  
He was falling fast, before suddenly, he came to a dead stop, a painful sensation in his ankle jolting him awake.  
He floated, watching as the upside-down residents of Cattletongue stopped their daily ramble and looked up to point and stare at him.   
Then, he began back upwards, heavy seizing at his legs as he looked up, seeing his brother grimacing down towards him, clawing hand over hand, grabbing handfuls of Jesse's pants to pull him back up over the railing.  
Jesse smiled slightly as his eyesight blurred out, spit dribbling from his mouth and up his cheek as he blacked out, his body finally failing him at length.  
Frank pulled hard, finally letting out his pent breath with a grunt when he grabbed a hold of the waist of Jesse's pants and hauled his body fully up and over into his arms.  
Jesse collapsed against his chest, his head at Frank's shoulder as he turned on his heel and headed back towards the window. Bob and Cole Younger had their heads out the window, but moved when they saw Frank coming back.   
"Grab his shoulders." Frank manipulated Jesse's body so that he slid back inside the window shoulders-first and sideways, gripped quickly by Bob and Cole as Frank pushed the rest of him inside, successfully missing the nail once again.  
With Jesse's boots dragging across the floor, the Younger brothers hauled Jesse towards the bed, laying him back down in the disheveled covers.  
"Go. Get out," Frank said stone-faced as he pushed his strong body back through the window, ignoring it as he ripped a long gash down his arm on that damn loose nail. Everyone just looked at him, not moving. "I said get out of the room!" He practically yelled, forcing the Younger's brothers legs to kick into action as they hurried out of the room. As Velvet began to as well, he turned and grabbed her shoulder, startling her.  
"Bring back some whiskey and bandages." She could only nod as he pushed her out the door, closing it behind her.  
He turned as Jesse coughed from the bed behind him, his breath jumping as he tried to breathe, a trickle of blood bubbling up and rolling down from the corner of his mouth, his eyebrows squeezing in every direction as he writhed.  
Cursing under his breath, Frank took two long steps towards him and knelt next to the bed, bringing up his hand to wipe the blood away from Jesse's face, smearing it some before he wiped it on his pants.  
Then he put it on Jesse's forehead, feeling fire beneath his palm.   
He turned quickly as he heard the door open, seeing Velvet come back carrying a large thing of cloth and a bottle of whiskey. Then he gave her orders once again. "You got any ice?"  
"I'd have to go down to the butcher."  
"Do it-"  
"But I don't have any-"  
"Take this." Frank reached into his back pocket and pulled out his fat, long wallet, throwing it at her. "Use it all if you have to. Take Cole, Bob and Clel with you. And make sure you crush it up."  
She nodded quickly and put the things down at the end of the bed, going back out the door and downstairs, leaving the door open.  
Frank palmed back Jesse's hair from his head, looking into his tightened face, feeling Jesse's breath lighten.  
Moving towards the end of the bed, he started taking Jesse's boots off, then moving back up to pull off his suspenders, having to lift his torso from the bed.  
Jesse's body shook as his eyes opened suddenly, rolling to meet Franks with a look of distance in them. He coughed wetly as a wash of new blood came pouring down his chin, his breath barely a whisper now.  
Frank felt the hot pressure of tears push forward in his eyes as he pulled Jesse up against his chest, cursing. "...ah shit Jesse..." he put a hand to the back of Jesse's head and cradled him against his shoulder, feeling the warm plume of staining blood soak up in the shoulder of his shirt. One of Jesse's shaking, fisted hands moved up to rest against Frank's chest while his other wrapped around his shoulder, his legs folding around beneath him as he moved.  
"...Frank..." he whispered through blood, his lips so close to Frank's ear he could hear the gurgling of the blood in the back of his throat.   
Frank strengthened himself with a deep, asserting inhale and gently began to rock Jesse's body back and forth. Jesse's head slid against the side of his face as he passed out again, the blood from Jesse's mouth dribbling down the collar of Frank's shirt and down his chest, sticky and hot. But Frank ignored it, gently rocking, waiting for eternity for the boys to come back with the ice.   
After a long time of hearing nothing but Jesse's shallow breathing, there was a knock at the door and Bob, Cole, and Clel came in packing two large, heavy buckets, filled with crushed ice. Velvet tailed them, a wooden chair from downstairs in her hands and bumping against her breasts as she walked.  
"Set it by me." Frank directed, reluctant to push out his arms, feeling Jesse's deadweight arm slid from the shoulder and fall, all of his body completely limp.  
They did as he instructed without a word, Velvet bringing the chair to put behind Frank in case he wanted to sit down, but he didn't notice it right off.  
"Uh, Frank?" Bob said gently, only getting a flinch from Frank to show that he was listening, but wouldn't turn in his direction.  
"He's, uh, bleedin' down your shirt."  
"I know." Frank said as a breath, careful to cradle Jesse's head against his shoulder as long as he could while he tried to lay him back out onto the bed. Then he flinched as he watched Jesse's head slide and fall with a soft sound into the flat pillows, exposing the thick, blackened red line that was nestled beneath his chin, the burn from the godsend faulty noose.   
"Everyone out." He said, and they did so, closing the door behind them with one last look.  
Turning to check the two buckets of crushed ice, Frank reached into his back pocket and pulled out his knife, moving up to thumb it beneath Jesse's suspenders and cut them loose, catching them before they could hit anything. He then fisted the split collar of Jesse's shirt and pulled, hearing a soft clatter of buttons go flying to the floor. Pulling his shirt away from his chest, he let it fan out against the bed as he turned towards the ice, shoving his hands into the bottom and pulling them back out with all the ice he could, hurrying as he carried it over Jesse's shaking chest and slowly let it down. Some of the ice came down dusted pink from the cut on Frank's arm, blood spattering.  
He worked armful after armful, covering Jesse's entire chest, waiting as Jesse's thick eyebrows announced that he was coming back again.  
His eyes flashed open as the coldness hit him, trying to suddenly sit up against the biting pain, his arm snapping out to grab hold of Frank's sleeve. "What the..." his words were finally intelligible as he tried to rise from the bed, only to be pushed down by Frank's arm across his shoulders.   
"Stay down," Frank warned, only having to push slightly at Jesse's weakened frame, though he still fought.  
Jesse turned his head to him, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched as he was forced back, his body stiff. "Godammnit Frank...what the hell?"  
"It'll draw the fever down from your head. I read it in a book." Frank assured him.  
"It's cold." Jesse stared at him, fighting against the pain.  
"Deal with it." Frank said dryly. Waiting as Jesse collapsed back into the straw mattress. Jesse's eyes began to slowly close, growing heavy.   
Frank looked into his eyes for a long while silently as he slowly passed out again. Then, as his limp arm lost grip and tumbled down his arm, it was caught by Frank's hand and he felt a tear run loose down his cheek.  
He turned his eyes away from his brother soon after he'd passed out, noticing that when he lifted his restrictive arm from Jesse's chest, a thin, line of blood was left. Roughly wiping the tears away from his face with the heel of his hand and sniffing back grief, he leaned over and pulled the roll of bandages and bottle of whiskey in close to him, not letting go of Jesse's limp hand.  
Working silently, he tore a piece of cloth from the roll and blotted up his blood from Jesse's chest; then, tearing off a wholly longer piece, wrapped it about the entire length of his forearm, tucking in the end to secure it.  
Once finished, he put the remaining roll on the side of the bed and put the whiskey bottle between his knees, unscrewing the top, and taking a heavy, burning swallow.  
Drinking to Jesse's recovery. 


	4. Dove on the Train Tracks

CHAPTER FOUR - Dove On The Train Tracks  
  
Frank jumped awake as a pair of old, spiny hands settled on his shoulders and his hand immediately went for his gun, dropping the whiskey bottle with a loud shatter onto the floor, sending a considerable less whiskey spilling across the floor in an exploded yellow rose stain, which means he had drunken more of it then he remembered.  
  
But the stiff fingers gave a squeeze, to reconcile that they weren't a threat and he turned his head to see Madame Aleksanderia Hannabeth Belle. She stood stiff behind his shoulder, the only way her old body would stand.  
  
Her silvering-black hair was mostly done up and clipped beneath a tiny women's derby hat, although a few ringlets were allowed to fall around her old face. She wore thick layers of makeup, the powder creeping into every crease and crack in her old, pale face. Her lips painted blood red while she wore her pink blush across her sharp cheekbones, all the way up to her temples. Her small, angular head was held high with a white lace-fringed, vase-necked black collar that contrasted between the bright yellow velvet jacket/corset with black frilled and laced sleeves at her elbows. Her long, busseled skirt with a long yellow petticoat tail shifted silently across the floor, commanded by her clicking, iron-soled high heel boots that clipped up to her ankles. She was the Madame of "The Ivory Terrace", having long since passed her extent of time being a brothel girl.   
  
"How're you doing sweetheart?" her old cracked voice was coated gently with the sound of sugar, painted lips curled up into a smile. He rubbed at his face with his large palms, turning over towards Jesse as he watched him sigh and turn onto his side, one arm hanging over the side of the bed with a slight cringe on his face before the pain settled.  
  
Then Frank cringed as the brunt of his hangover hit him square in the head, melting in the chair, groaning and grabbing at his head.  
  
Madame Hannabeth Belle patted his shoulder gently, then raised her hand as he felt stiffness beneath her fingers, noticing the dried blood that was spread beneath the shoulder and down the chest of his shirt, staining it dark. "Are you alright?"  
  
He thanked the quietness that her voice was and thought the better of shaking his hung-over head, raising a hand to point out at Jesse.  
  
"No ma'am - he bled on me..." Turning, Frank turned the ground and leaned over to begin picking up the pieces of glass from the floor with his thick fingers, almost to fall completely out of the chair.  
  
Madame Hannabeth Belle caught him quickly and righted him, laughing in wispy breaths before leaning down close to his ear. "Why don't you let me draw you up a nice, hot bath and get a Prairie Oyster in your belly to cure you, hm?" Her hand was down the collar of his shirt as he leaned back into the back of the chair once again, her fingernails running along his collarbone.  
  
He just let out a breath as she patted him again and left the room with the clean click of her heels with her, returning sometime later with a pile of folded linens and towels in her hands.  
  
"You think you're right enough to lift him up so's we can get him out of those wet sheets?" She asked, and Frank rubbed at his head again before getting up, steadying himself against the wall momentarily.  
  
Letting out a long, slow breath that stank of alcohol, he bent and gathered Jesse up into his arms, folding his brother around his forearms and against his chest as Madame Hannabeth Belle quickly went to strip the wet bed sheets, flip the small, straw mattress over, and briskly tuck the new ones into place, unfolding a corner to slip Jesse back into.   
  
As Frank did so, he finally noticed the large, fastened square of cloth over the back of Jesse's hip, and curious, lifted the edge. His eyebrows curved as he saw the raw, swollen brand that was black and crusted at the top, the skin inflamed and blistered.  
  
Anger churned suddenly in Frank as his finger accidentally brushed the brand and Jesse turned out from his hands with a slight plaint. Then, there was the gentle, thin pair of hands at his arms again, urging down his rage.   
  
"C'mon darling," she spoke softly, "I'll get Velvet in here to watch him and clean up the bottle. Meanwhile, I want you to go get yourself cleaned up and relax, you've been watching him too long."  
  
Nodding in agreement, Frank allowed her to lead him out of the room.  
  
~  
  
Frank drew the brim of his hat down over his eyes, sliding deeper into the warm, metal tub with his lit pipe in one hand and an empty glass of nasty Prairie Fire sitting on the floor beside him. The warm, sweet-smelling water rippled around his stomach and thighs as his limbs birthed from the tub, too long, but comfortably so.  
  
He closed his eyes, letting the silence of the room and the muddled noises from outside seep into his ears and quiet his mind, taking it off of his hangover and for split moments, his brother.  
  
He could hear the mumbled yelling and conversations from downstairs in the smoky saloon, and he could have sworn he heard Bob's voice yelling above them all.  
  
Then, as the calming stillness was always disturbed there, there came a knock at the door and a red-haired, painted up girl came in, wearing a satin red provocative dress and brandishing a sponge in her hand. Not a bad intruder as far as Frank was concerned, no doubt sent by Madame Hanna-Belle, and he commended the effort.  
  
Frank looked over then turned back and bowed his chin against his chest as she came in without admittance, settling down on her knees behind him with a rustle of her dress and dipped the sponge into the water near his side, bringing it up to rub it across his shoulders, her other hand working at his other shoulder, giving him a massage, making him melt.   
  
~  
  
He lay curled in the bed, the red-satin dressed girl now lay dressless and twisted in his arms, her red hair tangled and splayed about his chest as she slept silently. But Frank couldn't sleep.  
  
He was bent between the wall and the bed, the girl's head on his chest and his arm around her naked waist, his eyes watching the wall blankly.  
  
Raising his pipe to his lips, Frank puffed at it habitually, blowing the smoke downward through his nose, feeling it curl around his beard hairs and lips in playful, dancing spirals, only to rise up and haze his vision.   
  
Cocking his head to crack his neck, he turned to the red head as she sighed and rolled off of him, landing on her other side on the other side of the bed, the blankets curving her shapely body.  
  
He decided that he'd had fun, but the night's fun had left his throat mighty parched.  
  
Making his escape, Frank kicked off the side of the bed, found his pants, and put them on. He then pulled on a new shirt that Madame Hanna-Belle had kindly given him, though upon his request she had left the other uncleaned and folded beneath his holstered guns. Hesitating to grab for his rifle that lay propped in the corner, he opted instead for his revolvers and put them around his waist, feeling their comfortable weight at his hips once again. He then palmed on his boots as quietly as he could and stepped out the door and closed it softly behind him, beginning his way down the stairs.  
  
As he cleared the bottom, he saw most of the gang gathered about the door, slapping each other's backs and such as the other patrons of the saloon went about their card games and drinks, uninterested. Straightening his collar and rolling up his sleeves to his elbows, Frank came over and laid a heavy hand on Cole's back, Cole immediately turning around.  
  
"Frank!" But then his face fell. "How's cousin doing?" Frank just shrugged at him, changing the subject. "What's going on?" He waved his hands towards the group, some occasionally turning about to greet Frank before turning back outside.  
  
"We got drunker than shit and bet Bob that he couldn't get a drink with the fat dame standing out there on the other side of the street." Cole informed, before turning back out with a laugh.  
  
Interested, Frank turned and began back up the stairs, not turning as Cole called to him. "Where you going Frank?"  
  
"I got a better view up here..." Frank smiled as he heard mumbling then the hurry of cowboy boots up the stairs behind him. He palmed open the door to see the red-head still twisted in the curtains and paid no mind to her, walking straight past to the window that he forced open and pushed himself out of. But as he heard the men following him, he heard the woman give out a cry at the passing, gawking men, some losing interest in the window and gaining some in the girl, who immediately indulged in it.  
  
Frank leaned up against the railing, crossing his ankles as he marked Bob down across the street, womanizing the big broad in the large white dress with his many Younger charms, the best he had.  
  
He smiled slightly as he watched Bob pull at the woman's elbow gently, trying to steer her towards the saloon, only upon her realization of what it really was he was leading her to and getting a swift smack from her parasol on his broad-rimmed hat.  
  
The men rolled with laughter at the vaudeville; and as if to top off a great show, a great shower of dirty bath water came from a bucket thrown from the window above Bob as he began back across the street, rubbing at the swat. He stopped dead in his tracks as he heard the entire saloon before him howl with laughter, straightening up his wet shoulders and gaining back as much of the little pride he could as he made his way back across the street, getting an apology from the woman who'd thrown the water and giving a derogatory hand gesture in return without a look back.  
  
Frank thumbed his bottom lip as the men began to clear the catwalk, pushing back inside and wandering down to meet the wet traveler and jostle him about some more for his endeavors. But Frank stayed, looking out into the sky as it glowed like golden blood from the setting sun.  
  
"What is so funny?" Frank turned to see Velvet's black head peeking out from the window frame, her naked shoulders caressed softly in the light, her eyes shining.  
  
"Nothing...How's Jesse?"   
  
His face fell and his heart sunk as she turned towards the ground, running a finger across the wood planks.   
  
He came forward worried, only to stop as she turned back up to him, smiling widely. "Kidding you Frank, he's doing fine. He hasn't moaned or groaned for a long while, Madame Hanna-Belle says that once the doctor comes by again to check up on him, he may even be able to start walking again."  
  
"Well, that's good." Frank said, coming closer to the window, stooping down with his hand holding onto the top part of the frame, looking into her face.  
  
"You want to come in and see him?" She stepped back from the window and he looked to his brother, tucked comfortably beneath a pile of blankets and a red quilt, a wet, folded towel across his head. His eyes were closed and his re-bandaged hands were resting across his torso and side.  
  
Breathing silently, Frank shook his head, tapping his knuckles against the wood a moment before coming to a decision.  
  
"I think I'm gonna go downstairs...how long have we been here?" He asked, not remembering.  
  
"It's been nearly three weeks now Frank," Velvet smiled, putting out her hand to bring down his face, kissing him gently on the lips. "It's time for you to quit worrying." And with that, she turned away from the window and went back into the room.  
  
~  
  
Frank watched from the back of the bar next to the wet, brooding Bob as a skinny, bald-headed man wearing a nice gray suit and pocket watch, carrying a rose wood box and large book stumbled into the doors, completely out of place. The whole saloon seemed to draw silent and turn to him as he pushed his gold spectacles up on his hooked nose, pursing his old lips and licking at his gums with a slopping sound.  
  
"Where might I find a Mr. James? I was told he was in need of attendance by a Madame Hannabeth Belle." the doctor spoke to the gang in a fluttery, British accent, his fear-filled eyes roving over the guns brandished on every member's belts, their jacket flaps pulled back to reveal them.  
  
"Who's asking?" Frank said from the back, reaching up to flip his gun around the table and point it at the man, his palm on the top, ready for anything.  
  
"Dr. Peyton Abrose F. Bierce, sir. The third."  
  
"That's a mighty long name you got. You a Pinkerton?" One of the boys called out. "Sound's like a Pinkerton name."  
  
"What, pray tell," the man squirmed, "is a Pinkerton?"  
  
"A horse's ass!" Another member chimed in, and some of the boys laughed.  
  
"Then, I'm afraid I'm not. I come from New York sir, and I'm here to see a Mr. James. Now if you don't mind..." The man smiled and shuffled, trying to get out of being the butt of the joke.  
  
"Well excuse the shit out o' me!" The man said mockingly, thumbing his suspenders and bowing overly gracious towards the doctor, who licked at his gums once more in contempt.   
  
Frank had his feet up on the table and a beer in his hand, sitting in his lap and after scrutinizing the man for a while, filled him in in general. "He's up the stairs, first door on the left. Knock before you go in."  
  
"Very well sir, thank you." The man turned and began up the stairs.  
  
Soon after, a rowdier member mocked the man, taunting the man's stiff walk to get a laugh from the gang. But the doctor, never turning, continued up the steps.  
  
He knocked twice and waited for admittance, then pushed himself inside, closing the door behind him. 


	5. Dusty Pieces from the Bottom of a Bottle

CHAPTER FIVE - Dusty Pieces from the Bottom of a Bottle  
  
Frank watched the bustle of the saloon go back to their business, some patrons leaving while a random few returned. And all the while, Frank's eyes were pulled to the closed door, first one on the left.  
  
He rubbed at his bristled jaw trepidatiously for the longest time, fingering his blond beard as his mind shut out the noise around him. What was going on up there?  
  
Suddenly, the door opened and Velvet stuck her head out, her face worried, roving to catch the eyes of Frank and stuck out her hand to motion to him. Rising without hesitation, Frank lowered his feet, and getting a palmed shoulder and sympathetic look from the slowly drying Bob, made his way slowly up the stairs.  
  
Stopping at the door, he licked his lips as Velvet stuck out her hand, pulling him inside and shutting the door behind him.  
  
Madame Hanna-Belle was stooped over the sleeping Jesse while Doctor Bierce was sitting on a chair that he'd pulled up to the bed, leafing through a book that was propped against Jesse's hip. He was asking questions while his finger hooked around his chin intently.  
  
"And when has he last eaten something?"  
  
"A couple days ago..." Madame Hanna-Belle was saying. "It's so hard to get him to eat."  
  
"What'd you give him?"  
  
"Fluid beef. It's all he can get down lately."  
  
"Good." The Doctor roved back a couple pages, drawing his finger down the large page. "Has he drunken anything?"  
  
"We give him water on occasion."  
  
"I see, any whiskey?" the doctor said beneath his breath, untucking the blankets from beneath Jesse's chin and revealing his bandaged shoulders.  
  
"No." Velvet said as she immediately went to the open window and shut it, leaving Frank to approach the bed. The doctor looked up to him objectively. "Who is this man?"  
  
"He's Mr. James' brother sir." Velvet came up behind Frank and laced her arm in his, watching the doctor eventually nod and turn back to his book, still leafing.  
  
"I see," he said to the book, reaching down into his rose wood box inscripted with an elegant gold inlay that spelled out Tieman and unclipped it, revealing a folded array of red-velvet tiers that held random surgical objects.  
  
Frank swallowed hard as his eyes roved over the many sharp looking tools, shined and finished with their ivory white handles and clean faces, falsifying what they really were for.  
  
The doctor continued unbothered, pulling out tier after tier of tools on outstretching gold hinges. Until a great assembly of surgical tools were at his disposal. Huge toothed knives that curled and shone bright lay snugly in the bottom of the box, along with bone chippers, saws, probes, cauterizing irons, bullet extractors, and amputation knives. While the upfolding tier held the more delicate of objects, a flint glass jar with black things in it, iron and leather screw tourniquets, a rolled up and secured spindle of long, thin bottles for pills and liquids, various sizes of little toothed blade bleeders, and an hand-updated stethoscope of sorts, plus a thin, black bag fitting snugly against the front. The two outstretching tiers carried the finer of the tools, long pointed picks and long, varying curve-pronged tenaculums.  
  
The doctor reached in and grabbed the black bag, pulling out a pair of copper-framed wire eyeglasses with a hanging eyepiece attached to its side on a small frame. Fitting the second pair of spectacles over his nose in front of his other glasses and pushing the eyepiece into his eye, he scrunched his old brow around to hold it as he leaned into the box, extracting what he needed.  
  
Unrolling the broad leather bottle case, he pulled out other such objects and set them at the fold of the roll, the flint glass jar, the bullet probe, the bullet extractor, two tourniquets, and varying sizes of pliers, tweezers, blade bleeders and brushes. All secured in their own individual pockets by little golden flip fastenings.  
  
Suffice with his current supplies, Doctor Bierce pushed in the tiers and refolded his box back together, setting it on the floor next to him and leaning in towards Jesse, pulling back the covers further down to the man's waist. Then he turned up and eyed Velvet skeptically. "Would you mind stepping out of the room Miss?"  
  
"Why?" Velvet suddenly took on an airy look as the room turned to her, cowering behind Frank.  
  
"You should go, Velvet." Frank said gently, moving to take both her hands in his, looking into her dark eyes. And after a moment, she nodded in agreement, letting herself out.   
  
After the door was shut again, the doctor turned to Madame Hanna-Belle. "If you would leave too Madame..."  
  
"Aw hell! I ain't goin' nowhere's." The spindly woman coughed harshly. "There ain't nothin' I didn't see from back in the war."  
  
Noting his judgement silently, the doctor then turned to Frank, inquiring. "Do you have someone to help you from downstairs, preferably someone strong with a good stomach?"  
  
Frank searched his brain for the man that could hold his liquor like no other and fell upon the person within seconds. Going to the door, he pushed his head out and whistled, the crowd below him growing quiet and turning up to him.  
  
"Tom?" Frank yelled, and the Comanche stuck his head out from beneath the stairs. "Could you come up here and help?"  
  
Without pausing, Tom headed for the stairs and was up in a matter of moments. Following Frank inside while the sounds below slowly started to swell again.  
  
The doctor turned up to the Indian with hope and turned back down to Jesse's body, fixing up his stethoscope for use, briefing them.   
  
"You say he was shot?"  
  
"Yes sir, once in each shoulder." Frank answered, taking off his hat and placing it on the foot of the bed.  
  
"Anywhere else?"  
  
"No sir."  
  
The doctor's face twisted as he pried his fingers beneath the cloth around Jesse's neck, pulling it away to reveal the purple scar of the rope. "How long ago was his hanging?"  
  
"Three weeks sir." Frank kept spitting out answers.  
  
"Was he conscious when you found him?"  
  
"No sir."  
  
"Was he breathing?"  
  
"No sir."  
  
The doctor cocked his head peculiarly. "How, then, did you get him to breathe?"  
  
"I grabbed his belt sir and a- pulled until he started breathing. I figured it'd force in air."  
  
"Interesting..." The doctor took a pencil from his pocket and jotted a little note to himself down, before turning back to everyone. "So you say one bullet in each shoulder, correct?"  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
"I see, well, I'll have to extract them and I'll need you men to hold him down." He said apathetically, placing the hooked iron Y of his stethoscope into his ears. The bulgy, ivory bottom screwed into wide, ivory funnel, and he placed it against Jesse's chest, looking down to flip a couple pages forward in his broad book.  
  
Uncapping one of his thin bottles, the doctor lifted Jesse's head gently in his hand and waved the bottle beneath his nose, getting a disturbed sniff from Jesse, a fit of coughing, and a fight, immediately wrestled down by the doctor. He glanced towards the men and they immediately came over, grabbing what they could of Jesse and following the doctor's directions to "lift". They propped him upwards, his head hanging against his chest as he fought exhaustion, Doctor Bierce placing his stethoscope at different spots along Jesse's chest and back, stopping to consult his book before turning to Madame Hanna-Belle. "How long has this boy been on his back?"  
  
"Three weeks and four days, why?"  
  
"Fluid has gone into his lungs." He said matter-of-factly, turning back to reevaluate his consideration and nodding in agreement with himself.  
  
"From now on keep him propped upwards, so as to clear the fluid." The doctor suggested, rejecting the stethoscope back onto the side of the bed and began peeling off all the sticky, blood-soaked bandages from Jesse's torso, revealing the many healing wounds, letting the bloody cloths fall to the floor uncaringly.  
  
Then, pausing, he smoothed his hands over the pillow now behind Jesse's back, feeling the warmth wetness where Jesse had been laying, coming to another decision. "Had he a fever?"  
  
"He did once," Frank informed him, holding onto one of Jesse's arms to keep his weak frame upright, "but I put ice on his chest to bring it down from his head."  
  
The doctor stiffened. "Are you a physician?"  
  
"No sir, I read it in a book."  
  
"Very good." He nodded towards Frank then jotted another note down to himself, before turning to Madame Hanna-Belle. "Would you mind your covers getting bloody?"  
  
"Yes sir, I would." She confessed.  
  
"Very well, lift Mr. James to the floor, we will perform the operation there."  
  
Frank moved without rebuttal, grabbing Jesse beneath the arms as Tom grabbed his legs, beginning to lift. Jesse moaned, half awake as his head flopped back, his eyes halfway open.  
  
"I'm to search for bullets that may find their way into his heart." The doctor sufficed and pulled back his chair, stepping out of the way as they moved Jesse to the floor.  
  
As she rolled away the vast carpet, she looked to the ground with contempt. "I don't want my floor bloody either, our customers won't take too kindly to blood all over my floorboards." Madame Hanna-Belle protested, only to get a reassuring grasp of her old, thin shoulders by the doctor. "You can put the bed and the carpet over it when I'm done."  
  
Sighing dissatisfied, she shut her mouth and moved around behind Jesse's head, wishing to put a pillow beneath it, but did not do so.  
  
"Am I dead yet?" Jesse asked in barely a whisper, the first words he'd spoken in a long while and Frank turned to him after setting him down. "No, not yet."  
  
"Tell me when I'm gettin' close." Jesse nodded slowly and began to slip again, only to get a quick slap from the doctor at his cheek, reddening his pale skin. "Stay awake Mr. James."  
  
Groaning, Jesse did so, scowling at the old man as he moved his instruments back down next to Jesse and sat with a huff and a crack of his old body.  
  
He handed the small, thin bottle filled with the waking smelling salts to Madame Hanna-Belle and assured that Tom and Frank were ready at Jesse's arms and legs.   
  
Nodding their certitude in return the doctor pulled the lid from the flint jar and reached in, pulling out a couple of thick, black leeches that writhed between his two fingers chaotically before he set them near the bullet wound in Jesse's left shoulder, rearing up to find a good place. The doctor then took out a large pair of blade bleeders and unfolded them to reveal the leaf-shaped, toothed blade. Jesse flinched as the leeches took hold with their teeth, beginning to feed. And he could feel the doctor walk his two fingers beneath the back of his shoulder, feeling for an exit wound, and when none could be found, took the blade bleeder up into his hand, pinning his shoulder against the ground with his free hand while he pushed down the blade into Jesse's shoulder.  
  
Madame Hanna-Belle held down his head with some difficulty as he contorted at the sudden pain, the doctor working diligently to cut a three-inch long incision into his shoulder. He then took up the long, thin, bulge-ended bullet probe and shoved it into the new cut, ignoring the blood that rolled out in beadlets and puddled against the floor. Jesse gritted his teeth against the pain as he fought against the restraining hands.   
  
The doctor's hand shifted around in the spitting blood, his head up in the air facing the ceiling as he searched for the bullet through touch, bumping what he guessed were bones and such until he found what he was looking for.   
  
Jesse's head was all the way back, his mouth open wide but no sound coming out, tears clouding his eyes.  
  
"Hold on," the doctor said to the room, putting his finger over where he touched the bullet and retracting the probe, he replaced it with the pronged extractor and shoved it into the wound, Jesse gave out a agonizing cry before collapsing unconscious.  
  
"Watch his breathing, if it gets low, wake him with the smelling salts." Doctor Bierce commanded to Madame Hanna-Belle, who nodded quickly and cradled Jesse's head, wiping at the sweat while the doctor worked his way through Jesse's shoulder. He had to dig deep, so deep that he was almost afraid that he'd reached Jesse's back by now, but with a snap of the extractors, he caught hold of the bullet and pulled it out.  
  
Everyone collapsed back as the bullet came out, the doctor wiping his arm across his nose before pulling a little capped flask from his side and dropping the bullet into it with a clunk, announcing that other bullets were in their as well.  
  
Without hesitation, the doctor moved himself to Jesse's other side, taking another three leeches and placing them around his intentional incision spot, letting them all grab hold. And within seconds, he was inside Jesse's other shoulder, probing around for the second bullet, Jesse twitching spasmodically all the while.  
  
"Madame?" the doctor spoke through the situation like they were having tea, coughing slightly at the stench of the blood. "Could you ready the fireplace?"  
  
"Yessum." Madame Hanna-Belle spoke, hesitantly uncradling Jesse's head from her hand and running to do her biddance. She did so, getting a flaming orange fire going, then was instructed to insert the end of the cauterizing iron into the base of the flames, getting it red hot.  
  
Extracting the final bullet from Jesse's other profusely bleeding shoulder, the doctor dropped it into his flask and replaced it against his side, wiping at the sweat away from his forehead with his arm and reaching into the leech jar again to set more writhing leeches onto the bleeding wounds, trying to slow the gushing blood.  
  
When it wouldn't be slowed for some time, he opted for the tourniquets and pulled the leather straps loose, working them up Jesse's arms and over his shoulder, leaning them towards his neck with the screws pressed towards his jaw.  
  
With a quick turn of his wrist, he squeezed the tourniquets tight, cutting off all forms of circulation to his arms. Jesse's fingertips began to turn purple as his biceps turned deathly white, his face masked in a milky gray pallor.   
  
"Hold him steady." He warned as he went over and pulled the cauterizing iron from the heart of the fire, the end glowing red and hissing at the cold air of the room. And, without faltering in his old hands, pressed it down against the wound.  
  
Jesse came up screaming with all his might, jolting the iron slightly to slide against a leech that immediately pulled out of him and rolled up, tumbling off his shoulder as the doctor replaced the hot iron to his skin once more, melting his flesh together. "Hold him steady!"  
  
"Jesus Christ!" Jesse screamed as it was brought against his other shoulder, coming down with a hiss and a sizzle. Continuing to scream horrifically.  
  
Then, it was all over. The doctor removed the iron and Jesse fell back, writhing in pain as he tried to clutch as his burning shoulders. "Quickly, remove the leeches and tourniquets and wrap his shoulders." The doctor instructed and they all did as they were told, Tom finding it safe to let go of Jesse's legs and coming up to help Madame Hanna-Belle, checking periodically to see if Frank was alright with Jesse's fighting arms.  
  
With his head bowed to the floor, Frank fought against Jesse, but couldn't bear to look at his tortured brother.  
  
While Tom began re-bandaging his shoulders, Madame Hanna-Belle was working at Jesse's forehead with a soaked cloth, washing his face with the cool water and running it along his chest.  
  
Suddenly, with a slam, the door was open and Clel, Cole, Bob, and some others were shouldering their ways past each other through the doorframe, no doubt having heard the screams from downstairs.  
  
"What the hell's going on Frank?" Cole asked, holding back the onslaught of the pressing crowd with his spread arms at the doorframe. He flinched back at the smell and the sight of the pooling blood beneath Jesse.  
  
But Frank didn't look up from the ground. So Comanche Tom answered for him. "Nothing Cole. Go back downstairs." There was a look of defiance before it retreated into a respected head nod and he pushed himself back against the crowd, forcing them back.  
  
"Everyone back downstairs!" Bob yelled loudly, Jesse contorting suddenly to wrap himself into a ball against the noise and the pain, pulling free from everyone's hands. He pulled his legs against his chest and hugged gently at his shoulders, trying not to move much in the fetal position.  
  
Standing, and wiping at his bloody hands with a towel, the doctor solemnly put away his wiped-down tools and replaced everything back into his surgical box, removing his specialized spectacles and locking the rose wood box, then went towards the door with a floating comment over his shoulder. "He'll be better in about a week."  
  
"Where are you going?" Madame Hanna-Belle asked, the doctor turned slightly.   
  
"Downstairs. For a drink." Then he left.  
  
Madame Hanna-Belle and Comanche Tom stood and looked to Frank, who still sat silently over the curled Jesse.  
  
Silently Frank reached out and gathered Jesse up into his arms, holding him close, Tom and Madame Hanna-Belle taking each other's arms and going out the door solemnly.  
  
Leaving him alone with Jesse. 


	6. The Warmth of Addiction

CHAPTER SIX - The Warmth of Addiction  
  
He didn't have to open his eyes to see the form pass in front of the window. It moved silent and quick, not like Frank or a harlot, but someone sneaking. He laid quiet, not changing the rhythm of his breathing as he stole a glance through his eyelashes, only seeing a dark form, but now in a honed position, its back to him.  
  
Moving silently, he let his hand slide out from beneath the side of the blankets that had gone to disarray around him.   
  
The floorboards creaked softly and he heard the form stop dead as Frank sighed and hitched his light snoring from the other bed for a minute, before rolling over and resuming.  
  
Jesse, watching as the form continued its steps over to the bureau against the wall, fully extended his hand and felt the cool touch of his rolled belt on the table beside him. Working his fingers gently, and ignoring the pain in his shoulders, he pulled on the leather, feeling the wait of the Colt's slide across, helped to be silent by the doily underneath them.  
  
The dark figure was at the bureau now, picking up the pictures, their back still turned to him.   
  
Like lightening, Jesse pulled hard at his belt and caught one of his revolvers by the butt, while the rest of his belt fell to the floor. At the clatter, the figure turned and Jesse's Colt barrel was right there, pressed at the point right between the figure's eyes.  
  
As he looked at the figure with open eyes, Jesse noticed the pheasant feather tucked into the red band on the black derby hat he wore. The face of the figure had smooth, tanned skin. A shock of streaked brown hair stuck out in points around the edge of the hat.   
  
It was a boy.  
  
His hands were clutched against his chest and shaking and sweat had begun to break out across his smooth forehead and upper lip, not even old enough to be shaded with whiskers.  
  
Jesse could feel his arms immediately become weak as he raised his other hand in compensation, twinging at the sore muscles.  
  
"Jesse?" He chanced a look over to where Frank had his rifle leveled at the middle of the boy's back, his eyes jumping between Jesse's face and the sights on the gun.   
  
Jesse paused for a moment before putting out his hands towards Frank, who lowered his rifle.  
  
"What are you doing in here kid?" Jesse asked, pulling back the barrel of the gun from the boy's head, but not lowering it from the boy's vision for a moment longer.  
  
The boy opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His bottom lip trembled as his eyes fell to the ground and reached up to shake off his hat and run the rim of it through his fingers.  
  
Jesse stooped to get his face into the boy's line of vision, and put a hand out on the boy's shoulder, feeling him almost collapse beneath it.  
  
"Can you talk?" A smile broke out across Jesse's face as the boy caught his eyes, nodding his head quickly, his nervousness causing humor. He looked to Frank, who had moved over towards the boy, standing behind him with his thumbs hooked into the sides of his belt. His tall frame dwarfing the little kid who glanced nervously at him before shrinking.  
  
"What's your name?" Jesse asked, catching the boy's eyes again.  
  
"J-J-Jesiah..." His stuttering whisper was barely heard.  
  
"Jesiah?"  
  
The boy nodded.  
  
"How old are you?" Frank stooped down next to the boy, exchanging an amused look at Jesse.   
  
The boy licked his lips as the nervousness somewhat dissipated between him and the two men.  
  
"Fourt-t-een..."   
  
Jesse lowered his gun completely to the side of the bed, taking his hand off the boy's cold, bony shoulder.  
  
"You want to do something for me?" Jesse asked and the boy nodded, a white-toothed smile breaking the tan skin on the lower part of his angular face.  
  
"Do you know who Cole Younger is?" The boy nodded again.  
  
"Go tell him to clear all the people out downstairs," With his head still bobbing, he put thumbed on his hat and turned for the door without a hesitating question.  
  
Frank looked at Jesse as the boy went out the door, and Jesse reached up to grab at his shoulder that ached, feeling the bandaging.  
  
"I've been up here for what? Six weeks? I'm done lying on my back..." Reaching over, he grabbed his folded shirt and tried to put it on, pausing every so often.  
  
Frank stood up, his knees popping, "I don't think it's a good idea."   
  
"I've laid on my back enough for my own death, Frank, I'm sick of it."  
  
Frank sighed and went back to his bed, grabbing his boots and pulling them on, his blond hair tussled. As he sat was watched Jesse struggle with his clothes.  
  
As he tried to get up and push himself out from the bed, his knees buckled, and he caught himself against the bedside table. Frank was up and coming towards him. "Jesse..." he warned, but Jesse just smiled.  
  
"It's fine, I'm just weak..." He made another stab at trying to walk on his own and his legs buckled again, Frank catching him. Jesse laughed and put his head against Frank's chest.  
  
There was a long pause between them, exchanging thoughts without ever having to speak.  
  
"I can carry you..." Frank looked down as Jesse lifted his head, thinking over it.  
  
"...alright..." he felt even weaker now, having his brother carry him, but he also knew that it was the only way in hell he'd get down the stairs. Pulling at the back of his knees, Frank gathered Jesse into his arms and twisted up so that he was standing, heading towards the door.   
  
~  
  
"Go on! All a'ya! Git the hell outta here ya maggots!" He kicked and shooed them away with his hat, clearing out the bar and the sea of people.   
  
Cole was up on the bar top, feet planted between bottles and glasses of liquor with his arms in the direction of the doorway, posing as a human sign. Clell and Comanche Tom were smiling from the corner, sitting with their feet up on the card table with their hands in their laps.  
  
When one of the brothel girls began to go by, caught in the swarm of the moving mass, Cole made a dive.   
  
"Oh no you don't!" Swooping down, he grabbed the girl up by her forcedly petite waist and pulled her onto the bar top, kissing her. She giggled a silly little giggle and fell all over him, her hands at his hips as she watched the people force their bodies out the door and into the dusty streets of Cattletongue.   
  
When the last of them had cleared out Jesiah closed the door triumphantly behind them, his green eyes scanning over the now almost empty room. Only the large-bellied bar keep, Cole and the girl, Clell, and Comanche Tom remained.  
  
All their heads turned up towards the door of Jesse's room as if they were all on strings, Bob coming to the bottom of the stairs as Frank began down them with Jesse in his arms.  
  
"Feels like our wedding day, doesn't it?" Frank smiled and Jesse's eyebrows cocked as he smiled.  
  
"I'm gonna shoot you..."  
  
"Well look what we got here!" They both turned towards Bob who had his hat off and was bowing. "If it ain't the protocol returner!"  
  
"You look even shittier 'en when we brought you in here." Cole broke in from the counter top, in the midst of helping the harlot in pink off the bar, who giggled furiously.  
  
As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Comanche Tom appeared from around the corner, putting out his arms to help Frank as he shifted Jesse down onto his feet.   
  
They both took one of Jesse's biceps and helped him towards the bar.  
  
"Yeah, well, you look shittier than I ever will." Jesse flashed a smile at Cole's open jaw, playing shock. Then his bottom lip went out and he wiped an invisible tear with his thumb, shaking his shoulders like he was crying.   
  
"There, there sweet lady," Bob consoled him in a mawkish, accented voice. "I still love you..."   
  
He cocked his eyebrows coyly, licking both his thumbs and passing them over the tops of his eyebrows backwards, ruffling them. "Shall we?" He stuck out his arm, crooked to slip a hand inside, and cocked his knees into a European improvident walk.  
  
Smiling widely along with the game, Cole took his arm and they trotted like they were headed for the door, but split apart and curved back towards the bar where everyone else was gathered and smiling.  
  
"Makes you think about pretty Sadie from Atlanta, don't it?" Jesse asked, "I miss her..."  
  
Cole's face dropped as he came forward, taking on a humor-hewed seriousness.  
  
"I miss her mustache more..." Frank added as Cole reached for Jesse, locking his arm around his head.   
  
"You talk about Sadie again and I'll give you the beating of your life little Jesse James."  
  
"Let 'im go Cole," Frank said, pushing Cole off of Jesse. Cole stumbled for a stance before turning like Frank had just crossed a line, anger tingeing his shaded face.  
  
Frank immediately stood from his stool beside Jesse, while Bob took a seat on the opposite one, watching with a sullen face.  
  
"Cole..." Frank said putting up his hands in protest, while Cole brought up his hands in fists. He made like he was going to punch Frank right square in the nose, but instead grabbed the sides of his head, giving him a big wet kiss right on the lips.  
  
Frank reeled back as Cole stumbled away, laughing too damn hard to stand up straight. The other men laughed from their seats at Frank's reaction.   
  
He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand before wiping it on his pants, mad, but not mad enough to cover the smile on his face. And as Cole stumbled away, he kicked him in the butt, before returning to his seat, shaking his head in disbelief.   
  
After righting himself, Cole took a seat next to Bob, pulling the girl in pink into his lap; Clell, Tom, and Jesiah taking up the remaining stools.   
  
Frank raised his hand to the keep who brought him a beer and he took a long, deep drink, trying to clean out the taste.   
  
As the large room quieted and smiles faded, Cole tapped his finger against the counter top, hunched over as he turned. The girl lolled against his chest, pulling at his hair and twisting it in her fingers.  
  
"So what happened Jesse?" In all seriousness, "how'd they get you?" He batted the girl's hand away and she pouted before moving down to play with the buttons on his shirt, unbuttoning one and sliding her hands in against his chest.  
  
Jesse leaned back as the keep brought him a beer and he looked at it for while, but never bent to take a drink. "I don't remember, I just kind of - all I remember is bein' on this horse an' this old man with a cross branded across his eye had Zee..." his voice faded at her name, some memories of her flooding his mind. "They burned her...and I couldn't do anything..."  
  
He reached up to scratch the nape of his neck, then rubbed at his hair, feeling the rough skin that was now a healed rope burn. "Then they hung me, and that's it." He shrugged, trying to shift the heaviness in his shoulders. "I woke up here and that's it, that's all I remember."  
  
Clell, who had reached into his pocket, drew out a piece of blackened metal, reached across the counter to put it in front of Jesse. "We found this, when we found you. We figured you'd want it."   
  
Pausing, he reached down and picked it up, smoothing his thumb over the roughened pendant, the chain hanging black and leaving black dust across his hand as he moved it. It was the necklace Zee had been wearing.  
  
Jesse bent down and kissed it, cupping it against his lips with his eyes closed, before putting it around his neck, tucking it into his shirt. Then he reached for his beer and took a hard swallow, trying to wash all the memories away again.  
  
Frank cleared his throat loudly, even though it probably wouldn't have been so loud had the room not been so quiet. Jesse tapped his fingers against his bottle, staring at it. "So what have you been doing?"  
  
And they all sat back with relief.  
  
"Recruiting mostly," Cole said, taking a swig, "damn near everyone in the south is tryin' to get in with us. It's all cause of you Jesse," he looked up towards Jesse and they met eyes. "They all want to be part of the James Gang."  
  
Jesse smiled but discarded it, "It's the Younger Gang now and you know it, I'm not in it anymore."  
  
Frank glanced at Jesiah, whose face fell to the countertop at the comment.   
  
"Aw, come on Jesse," Bob said, leaning back to look at him across the backs of the others. "You were the only one that could think up all the plans! Cole's horrible at it." That earned a slap across the back of the head from his brother, and a smile from Jesse.  
  
"Don't you forget brother, I let you say "let's ride"." Cole warned and Bob came back at it with a sneering look. "I still suck at it."  
  
"You suck at a lot of things..." Cole challenged and Bob made a move to get up.  
  
"Boys," Frank warned and they both sank back down.  
  
"We just need you on this last one, Jesse," Clell piped up, leaning over the counter. "Then it'll all be over, we swear."  
  
Cole and Bob nodded in agreement. Jesse ran his hand over the stubble on his chin.  
  
"Now boys, you know Jesse can't do anymore robberies for a while. Doctor's orders."  
  
Jesse rubbed at his eye, watching Frank smile as his own hand rifted through his blond whiskers, breaking around his mouth.   
  
"Frank," Jesse canted his head towards him, his black eyebrows cocked. "When have I ever listened to orders?" 


	7. The City of Death

CHAPTER SEVEN -The City of Death  
  
Northfield, Minnesota  
(Mwa ha ha! here's my chance to do some Frank-bashing now!...oh, how i loathe my pastimes...)  
  
~  
"Rain's coming." Comanche Tom tilted his head, looking up at the lazy red clouds that rolled by. Not a drop of a sign or the tip of a hat to show you he was right, so any outsider might guess him wrong. But the original group knew, and drew their collars up against their necks.  
  
"How can you tell?" Bob squinted one eye up at the silver lined sky.  
  
"The sky carries the color of blood. That means it will rain soon."  
  
"You sure you're up to this?" Frank looked over to Jesse on the horse beside him, sitting almost giddy in his new saddle and horse. He was up on the balls of his feet in the stirrup, only the back of his jacket touching the saddle. Frank could see a grin working away at the corners of his mouth, chopping away at its edges.  
  
"'Course I am," Jesse said, looking over his shoulder at the group of men trailing them.  
  
Riding five abreast were Comanche Tom, Clell, Cole, Bob, and Jesiah. Behind them, was two lines of the same count in alignment, mostly rough faces of men that had been drafted specially by Cole and Frank.  
  
Patches of panicum grass whispered in the barely felt wind, catching coat flaps and sneaking them open, their firearms winking their intentions to the blind streets.   
  
The streets of Northfield were deserted; save for a few people shuffling about skittishly; all hurrying to get inside as if that foreshadowed storm was about to hit. Men with women laced in their arms worked garishly faster at their stride, pulling the limp umbrellas of people along as they found doors closed behind their backs. Old drunks stood crowded in Saloon doorways, gruff faces ignoring the spits of brown tobacco nested in their long white whiskers as they took another sip of their drinks and winked at the men.  
  
Jesse did his best to tip his hat to everyone he caught an eye with, smiling politely and saying "howdie, my name's Jesse James" to any lady whose precious head peeked through the crowd.   
  
Something didn't feel right to Frank as he sat back and silently watched his brother, something felt off.  
  
Most everyone else was feeling the same as well, looking about at the examining faces; some turning back around to not lose a primal stare that soaked them through, their horses skittering between their thin thighs.  
  
"I've got a bad feeling about this," Bob said from the side looking up to the red sky again, his horse restless, with its long brown head swaying this way and that, flapping its lips.  
  
"You bein' a yellow belly, Bob?" Cole shook the hesitance from himself by poking at his brother, but didn't bother to look at him. He caught sight of the bank up the street some and raised his shoulders.  
  
"The wind is speaking," Tom was leaning back on his horse, his hands off the reigns and pressed forward in the air, feeling the oncoming breeze.  
  
"What's it tell you?" Bob stuck out his hand to see if he could feel the same thing, but dropped them when nothing happened.  
  
"We're already here," Cole cut in before Tom could answer, not wanting to know what the wind was telling him, just wanting to get this goddamn thing over with.  
  
He raised his arm and all the men's heads came up like they were on strings. Twirling his finger in the air, five of the back men broke off from the group and came around, trotting a ways up ahead of the bank and stopping their horses a few buildings down from it, some choosing to unmount and tie their horses to the hitching post.  
  
All of the twenty men brandished their various pistols and rifles openly now with their coat lapels flung back, some with their hands on them, others deciding to test their quickness.  
  
"I don't like this either," Jesse turned as he heard it come out of Frank's mouth, suddenly feeling the hair rise on the back of his neck.   
  
But he didn't say anything as they stopped in front of the Bank and dismounted, tying up their horses.   
  
Bob was nervous now. "You sure we should be doing this today?"  
  
Cole put his head back in frustration. "What the hell is the difference between today or tomorrow?"  
  
Bob had crossed one arm around his chest, the other was cradled in it like it was a sling, just at the height to where he could chew on his thumbnail. "I don't know, it's just, we've all got a bad feeling..."  
  
Cole made a step towards Bob like he was gonna smack him one upside the head when Jesse, shrugging up courage, stomped through the boardwalk and kicked open the door, drawing his pistols.  
  
The rest of the men followed without little hesitation.  
  
The bell above the door swung hard and clanged against the wall as it upended before clattering back to a stop on its iron spiral hook, giving birth to dead silence, except for the tromping of boots as the men entered.  
  
The bank was as deserted as the streets had been, save for the corpulent man in a pinstripe shirt and armbands behind the barred window of the tell. Sweat rings darkened and smeared beneath his arms and around his collar, despite the fact that it was in September.  
  
"Can I help you gentlemen?" The teller's voice came out broken, sweat pouring down his broad face as he wiped at it with his handkerchief, shoving it back into his back pocket. A black smear was streaked across his forehead, from his blackened thumb that had flipped through all the wet inked bank notes. Then suddenly, his fat face fell aghast as realization struck him.  
  
"Jesse James?"   
  
Jesse smiled and nodded; he'd forgotten how sweet infamy felt.  
  
"All them newspapers said yous was dead." The teller's skin turned a brighter red as he stepped back from the bars separating them, giving himself some room. "But if you're alive, that means, you're here to rob me..." He was almost horrified.  
  
Trying to hold back a laugh, Jesse leaned up against the counter, putting a hand around one of the bars.   
  
"Sorry sir, but that'd be the truth," Jesse presented his pistol up on the countertop and pointed it at the man's pale head, Frank coming to join him at his side with his rifle raised as well, smiling in kind.  
  
The teller put his hands up, swallowing hard as he shook his head profusely, his double chin shaking like the bloated beard gullet on a turkey. "I'm sorry Mr. James, but the safe is on a time lock. I won't be able to open it until four o'clock tonight." He jabbed a fat thumb towards the large cabinet behind him, the lock looking like it could have rightly been so, looking all high tech and fancy.  
  
Frank reached into his vest pocket and drew out his pocket watch, unclasping it.  
  
"It's two seventeen." He announced to the room.   
  
"That puts us in a dilemma then, doesn't it?" Jesse said, smiling at the teller, his eyes not moving.  
  
"Yes sir, Mr. James, it does." The banker jiggled.  
  
Jesse paused and clicked the air at the bottom of his lip before turning to look about the room trying to decide what to do.  
  
He rubbed at his eye with his free hand and sniffed as he turned back to the banker, leaning in close to the bars. "Come here," he flexed his hooked finger and the banker reluctantly rolled forward, still beckoned until his nose was almost pressed up against the bars.  
  
Jesse reached out and grabbed the man's shirt, ignoring the wetness, and leaned in close, their noses touching, looking him dead in the eye. "You wouldn't be lying to me now, would you?" He drew out his words, making sure the teller heard every single one of them clearly.  
  
The teller jiggled some more, more sweat breaking out across his rosy red face. "No, no sir."  
  
Jesse nodded in satisfaction and let go of the man, looking at his wetted hand in distaste before wiping it on the lapel of his coat, turning towards Frank.  
  
"What do you think Frank? Think we should pass some time? Or just kill him and find out if he's really tellin' the truth?"  
  
Frank cocked his head, but never for a second took his eyes or his rifle off the teller. "I think we should be complaisant about it, even if we have to kill him. This is, after all, the nineteenth century." He cocked his rifle, watching the fat man jump at the sound, his hands moving a little bit farther up in the air.  
  
"I agree," Jesse nodded, turning around and putting his elbow on the counter, fingering the buckle of his holster that hung low across his hips. "What about you Bob? What do you want to do?"  
  
Bob licked his lips, having lost his hesitance now that they were inside and amidst the robbing. A crazy look came over his eyes as he dove into the game. "I think..." he paused for a dramatic effect, keeping everyone on their toes. "We should shoot him and take our chances."  
  
"Anyone disagree?" Jesse looked over the crowd at the semi smiling faces, not seeing any heads shake in protest.  
  
He leaned over the counter top again, coming in close to the bars. "Sorry," he said, almost looking sympathetic. "Majority rule."  
  
The teller's eyes flashed between Jesse's dark eyes and Frank's rifle and he pulled at his collar.  
  
"How much do you got on you?" Jesse asked, putting a hand around one of the bars again, suddenly replacing his pistol into his holster.  
  
The teller paused as if wondering, then reached down into his pocket, pulling out a wad of bills, he slid them beneath the caging, Jesse picking them up.   
  
"How much is that?" Cole asked from the side, eyeing the money.  
  
"About," Jesse counted through it, "twenty dollars."  
  
"Enough for a proper burial." Frank surmised and Jesse agreed, shoving the bills into the breast pocket of his duster.  
  
"We could even throw in a cross so's people know where not to piss, since he'd been so nice and all." Cole said and the room grumbled with sniggers.  
  
"You want anything before you die?" Jesse asked and the teller nodded, his hands lowering a bit.   
  
"I have some brandy beneath the counter, do you mind if I have a last drink?" Sweat melted into his eyes from his large, wrinkled forehead, glazing them over.  
  
Jesse waved his hand in approval and the teller nodded his thanks, bending down out of sight, Jesse looking towards Frank.  
  
It took only a second; the teller was up with a pistol and had fired. The bullet struck Frank in the left side and an immediate roar was heard from the rest of the group as their bullets tore through the teller, making him a new, thinner head.  
  
Frank stumbled back, a stunned look on his face as he hit the nearest wall before sliding to the ground. His rifle clattered out of his hand as it went for his side, feeling the gush of blood beneath his shirt and vest and coat immediately soak through the cloth.  
  
"Frank?" He looked up at him from his position on the floor, blinking his eyes as if he had trouble seeing. He put one of his bloodied hands onto Jesse's shoulder as he crouched low, beginning to push himself up, but falling back against the wall at the sudden staple of pain that clamped his side.  
  
Suddenly, from outside, there came a volley of gunfire, answered by more gunfire and some screams as the men standing guard at the door were torn down. Bullets ricocheted and pelted through the thin walls and shattered the greasy window panes.  
  
"Holy shit!" Bob suddenly jumped as he heard a volley of grape shots burst around him. He ducked down against the floor while Cole dove for the window, pressed up against his side before taking a quick glance outside.  
  
"They've got people up on the roof, they've got cannons and a - aw shit."  
  
"What?!" Bob yelled from the floor, wiggling his way towards the counter for cover.  
  
"They got a gattling gun..."   
  
"Aw shit..." Bob 's face turned to horror as he looked over towards Jesse.  
  
Comanche Tom was kneeled next to Frank, having gotten him to lie down, his body still shaking, whether from shock or from pain, none of them could tell. He was pulling on his shirt, trying to get it loose to uncover the wound as Jesse joined Cole at the other side of the window, chancing concerned looks every so often over to Frank.  
  
"I told you I had a bad feeling about this." Bob said from his crouched position on the floor. "Everyone did."  
  
"There ain't shit we can do about it now!" Jesse's voice came out convicting, aimed at himself more so than Bob. He looked to his brother, whose shirt was now loose and opened, revealing a bleeding mass of muscle as Tom worked at the wound, reaching beneath him to check for the exit and both luckily and unluckily finding one. Frank kept picking up his head, trying to see the wound for himself.  
  
"Don't look at it, look up," Tom said, putting his bloody hands over Frank's eyes to push his head back down, smearing his face red. Tom pulled off his bandana and shoved it against the wound, trying to stop the blood. He pressed hard against Frank's side, cramming the cloth into the purging wound and getting a cry from him. "Try not to move."  
  
Suddenly, another rapid shudder hit the walls; followed soon by pounding shrieks as the gattling gun's bullets pierced and streamed through them like paper. Everyone who was up dove to the floor, except for Jesiah, who in the excitement of the gunfire had froze solid in the middle of the room.  
  
They all watched as the gattling's bullets bore right through him, lifting him up like a puppet and throwing him back towards the ground to where he slid against Bob's boots, oozing and dead.  
  
Working on instinct, Jesse brought his pistol around and slammed it hard against the window, propping his barrel over the clear sill, seeing gunners on the opposite building's roofs. Even from their darkened frames, he could tell they were all smeared, each one packed to the threads with ammunition.  
  
This had been an ambush, someone had gotten the better of Jesse and was now taking out what was left of the guards outside. Soon, there was no hope for this little broken band of men.   
  
Jesse fired towards the shadows on the roof, getting an angry shod of cannonade from them in return, the bullets screaming through the walls and window as he threw himself to the floor.  
  
A rifle bullet caught Tom in the temple as he was stooped over Frank, cracking his head sideways and flipping his long black hair as he spun a quarter turn before falling. The back explosion reaching the side of the counter and spattering it, immediately dribbling down.  
  
Suddenly, the door burst open as a cannon ball about the size of a man's head came crunching into the room, denting the floor once on a bounce before crashing hard into the teller's counter, about a foot away from Bob's head.   
  
The color on Bob's face dropped about four shades up from death and he immediately felt his stomach lurch as he vomited.  
  
"Jesse!" Frank pushed himself up onto his elbow, fumbling for the freed cloth, as he pressed down on his own wound with all he could muster, his jaw locked. Then, having contained the bleeding, he reached over for his rifle and threw it towards his brother.  
  
Kicking up the rifle once the volley fire had stopped, Jesse made a move and pressed himself back up against the wall beneath the window, before pivoting up to the side and pushing the end of the rifle out of the broken corner.  
  
He fired twice, hearing a crisp scream before another volley hit the side of the bank. They were tearing the wall to shreds and bitter ashes.   
  
"Jesse James!" There was call from the outside, a voice he knew all too well. "Give yourself up!"  
  
It was Thaddeus Rains.  
  
Jesse looked to Frank, who was propped up on one elbow still and a grimace twisting his face.  
  
Cole looked to Jesse while Bob lay behind the counter, having pushed the body of Jesiah behind him and was currently wiping the spit from his chin.   
  
"We'll kill you if we have to," Thaddeus called from somewhere close but unseen.  
  
"'Cause you did such a good job before..." Jesse challenged and he could hear Thaddeus laugh from outside.  
  
"Come on Jesse, those boys were just having a bit of fun..."   
  
Frank sat up fully, his head spinning and pushed himself onto his knees, using the wall as leverage. He doubled over onto his hand as the pain hit and he fought to control it, his hat falling down off his head, revealing a sweated mess of blond hair, something driving him.   
  
"Come in here and let me have a bit of fun with you..." Jesse ground his teeth, no humor in his words.  
  
"I'm disappointed Jesse," Thaddeus said, sounding closer than he ever did before, almost like he was up on the boardwalk next to them. "It looks like I got you before you got me..."  
  
"I wouldn't be so sure," Jesse moved silently up so that he was standing beside the blown open doorway, the rest of them squatted next to the walls.  
  
Frank's wounded gut worked hard to tell him of the things that were coming and he readied himself.  
  
"Jesse..." he breathed a warning and Jesse glanced to him, licking his lips. His eyes stubbornly claiming his intentions while Frank's countered them fiercely before fading and almost falling to his knees again as he pressed his fist harder into his wound, blood puddling around his boot and streaming down his leg, both back and front. He didn't have enough hands to hold both wounds and keep upright.  
  
"How's your wife Jesse?" Thaddeus pricked, taking time to reach up and light a cigarette between his lips, reveling in the uneasy silence that followed.   
  
"Come on," he could tell Jesse was bristling at the conversation. "I'm unarmed...why don't you shoot me?"  
  
Jesse's eyes twitched as an angry sickness washed over him, his face tight as the memories of his wife came back to him in a rush, nearly knocking him flat. "I hear you two never made it to your new homes. That's truly a shame. What was it that happened to her...?"  
  
There was an absorbed laugh from outside as Thaddeus shook away the used match, digging his cold, steel fingers into the open wound of Jesse's heart with one final blow. "Oh yes...I remember."  
  
"You destroyed my father's pocket watch Jesse, come get what's coming to you." His eyes narrowed at the shadow through the wall.  
  
"You killed my wife asshole..." Jesse seethed.  
  
"I did, didn't I?" Thaddeus chortled to himself again snidely, noting his tawdry victory. "Think she made good firewood?"  
  
"You son of a bitch..."  
  
Just as Jesse lunged for the door, Frank was with him. They both flew, Jesse pivoting around the frame just as Thaddeus took off running and Frank lurched and caught Jesse right across the waist with his shoulder, knocking him immediately to the ground.  
  
He shoved him hard across the doorway, Jesse tumbling away as two of the many fired bullets ripped into Frank's upper left thigh and left arm, puncturing meat in his leg and shattering his wrist.  
  
Suddenly, a hissing stick whistled by over his head as he crumpled, the bottom of it tripping on his ear as it flipped with a clatter to the floor. And in its stillness, Frank noticed what it was.  
  
"Dynamite!" Bob screamed loud and wrapped the brim of his hat down over his head, cowering against the floor, praying.  
  
Frank kicked the stick of dynamite with the scuffed tip of his boot partly back out the door and lunged on instinct, landing on top of the curled Jesse just as the explosion rocked the floor.   
  
~  
  
It had been silent forever now, until it was broken.  
  
"Frank!" Jesse coughed and wiped the blood of another man from his face, clearing his eyes as he began to swim through the broken building.  
  
Suddenly, bottles shattered grotesquely loud as dark flasks of liquor came flying through the pock marked walls, wailing cries fissuring behind them. The townspeople were revolting.  
  
The stifling blaze soon became overwhelming, melting clothes to flesh and stinking as half-dead bodies began to burn and scream. Smoke rose in black plumes and flames grew blue at the feet, crawling to wherever the liquor had exploded.  
  
"Frank!" Jesse called above the noise, his eyes scanning, thinking he saw Frank, but when he looked more carefully, he found it to be a corpse. They were running out of time. "Frank!"  
  
"Yeah?" The voice was pain wracked but still managed to find itself.  
  
"Where are you?"  
  
"Over here..." the voice faded and a bloody hand flew upward, some feet away from him before falling. Crawling quickly, Jesse came to his side, seeing Frank twisted sideways in the debris, blood covering most of him, black ash covering the rest.   
  
Frank moaned as he tried to move and Jesse leaned over his head, wiping the blood and grime from his face, checking for any head wounds.   
  
Frank was using his good arm to try and clear debris off of himself, but pain kept knocking him flat.  
  
His side wound was still gushing blood and the two new wounds in his arm and leg were doing the same, staining his clothes crimson.  
  
"Can you get up?" Jesse clutched at his brother's shoulders, helping him up as he cried out, still not enough hands to clutch the more than too many wounds now. Suddenly a shadow stumbled over them and Jesse turned to see Cole drop to his knees beside them, reaching down to help, his face bloody as a gash on his forehead leaked.  
  
"You've gotta get out of here Jesse." There was, for the first time since Jesse had looked into them, fear in Cole's eyes. "Take Frank and head for the Dakotas."  
  
"What about you?" Jesse asked, shifting the last bits of building off Frank's legs and looking to where Bob was now at the window, Frank's full-length ten-gauge was propped in his arms and on the window, firing heatedly at any man that tried to approach the compound. Comanche Tom lay dead at his side, curled against him, Bob protecting his corpse.  
  
Cole reached out and seized Jesse by the lapels of his mackinaw. "Go Jesse." He spoke without a thread of hesitance, his eyes digging into Jesse's brain so hard his head hurt.  
  
And Jesse nodded.  
  
Grunting, he pulled his brother up and compensated heavily for his weak frame, throwing his wounded arm about his shoulders.   
  
Cole lunged for his pistols and joined his brother with his back against the wall, kicking at any flames that grew too close.  
  
Jesse shuffled quickly through the rubble, dragging Frank around him, his head bouncing against his shoulder as they moved, his legs trying to help but usually just sliding.  
  
Suddenly, he felt a fist grab his pants, and looking down, saw Clel smiling up at him, it was a numb smile. The lower half of his body was gone, spilling pale entrails and a pool of blood big enough for a full-grown man to lay down flat in.  
  
"I was right Jesse..." Clel coughed up through the blood pouring down his face, "I swore it was the last one..."  
  
Jesse watched his smile fall as his face melted into death, his hand falling limp away from Jesse's leg, his eyes wide open and still, the whites gleaming.  
  
"Jesse!" He turned as he heard Bob yell from behind him, watching him as he began to tear away the broken boards that the cannonball had dented, having given his brother control of the window momentarily. "Come on!"   
  
He ripped a hole big enough to fit a man's shoulders through and stepped back to help him lower Frank down into the elevated foundation.  
  
Jesse followed in after him, pausing as he looked to Bob with discomfort. "Are you coming?"  
  
Bob licked his lips and looked behind him at his brother pressed up against the wall, then turned back to Jesse nervously. "I think I'm gonna stay through this one..."  
  
Jesse nodded his approval with the tip of his hat, "Good luck," he said as he began working his shoulders down into the hole, removing his hat for a better fit. Bob removed his coat and threw it onto the enclosing flames, stamping them out.   
  
"Yeah," Bob said to himself, "we're gonna need it."  
  
Jesse was having difficulty crawling around in the tight space. The air below was musty and thick, and the muddy, sloppy ground wasn't much better, not having been touched by the sun in quite a few years he guessed and the smell sure made up for it.  
  
Working as a sort of lunging crawl backward, almost the motion of a cat heaving with its back curled, Jesse had Frank by the lapels of his coat and was dragging him on his back, Frank doing his best to keep quiet and kick his legs against the mud for propulsion every so often.  
  
He kept moving to the crack of light towards the back of the building, aiming so that he came to the side of a large cleave in the foundation, big enough to hopefully squeeze through.  
  
It had begun to rain outside, just as Tom had commented earlier. And now the rain pelted the ground in front of the hole like it was trying to dig right through the earth.  
  
Jesse stuck his head out of the hole, taking a look around. With most of the action taking place in front, only two men were patrolling the back. They were heavyset and fish belly white, their bloated paunches threatening to pop their buttons. Each of them had rifles in their fat fists, but the muzzles were pointed towards the ground, devoid of attention.  
  
Reaching into his scabbard for his pistol, he found the angle weird, the hole was big enough for a head or a hand, not both; he would have to shoot blind.   
  
Scooting his head back in, he waited from the recesses of the darkness, his thumb pressing down on the hammer and waiting, holding his breath, he was only going to get one shot at this.  
  
Waiting until one of the heavy footsteps trudged by with their sound and shadow, Jesse fired, shattering the man's ankles with one ball as he went down with a cry of surprise. Tilting the gun quickly, he guessed where the man's upper body had landed and fired twice, catching the man right in the jowls, snapping his head back and cracking his spine instantaneously.  
  
"Ike?" The other fat man had his gun raised now and was flipping it wildly around, looking for the culprit, Jesse having slunk back into the darkness like a snake after striking its first kill.   
  
Finding no one, the man crouched down next to his dead buddy, putting a hand on his swollen belly. Jesse made another stab, gouging the crack in the wood with his pistol muzzle and fired three times in succession, the man leapt up with surprise and staggered, clawing at his belly with the blood showing black between his yellow fingers. He fought to hold footing before he crashed onto his back, lying still.   
  
Pulling his head back in, he looked to his brother, whose pale face was streaked with mud as it caught the light.  
  
"We're gonna get out of here, alright?" Jesse told him and he didn't nod, he wasn't in the disposition to nod. "Just hold on."  
  
Turning so that he was propped up on one elbow, Jesse kicked hard at the foundation boards, the thick mud holding them at the bottom creating a restrain for many of the planks to easily snap half in the middle.  
  
Then, grabbing his brother by the shoulder again, he drug himself arseways out through the hole, coming out into the rain first. If someone was going to suddenly come around the side of the building, Frank wasn't going to be the one to be shot first.  
  
He pulled hard, scraping his hips and wrenching his gun belt sideways as he squeezed out, then worked carefully to pull Frank out behind him. He laid him out in the mud, noticing how the rain seemed to attack his face, so he threw his hat over it.  
  
He worked on his knees, stooped over him to pry at his sticky clothing once more, the rain helping to clean some of the blood away as he uncovered the wounds.  
  
He worked fast, stripping both the corpses down of possessions and shoving them into his shirt, taking whatever they had on them. Watches, wallets, suspenders, stockings, hats, and guns now came into Jesse's possession.  
  
He grabbed the new hat and palmed it on, its brim hanging down low over his brow, nearly blinding him. He stripped the clothes off Frank's room, ripping them some as he took the corpses's stockings and worked quickly to fill them with handfuls of mud before shoving them deeply into the wounds, making sure they would stay.  
  
He was working for speed at the moment, not prudence, he would worry about infection later.  
  
He took Frank's arm around his shoulder and lifted him upright, Frank bending over himself as he hopped and slid along side him, half-conscious and fading.  
  
They made it to the side of the building, pressed up against the decking as Jesse peered around the corner.   
  
A couple of the new recruits and Cole and Bob stood abreast on the edge of the boardwalk, bleeding with their hands held high as townsfolk took turns running up and spitting at them.  
  
Thaddeus Rains was standing out before the boys, his arm up in the air as a firing squad - with their rifles at ready aim - stood beside him, set at his command.  
  
It was now or never; just as he brought his arm down, Jesse ducked his hat low and stumbled out from around the corner, working quickly to head towards the jumping horses still tied to their hitching posts, hoping no one would claim their escape.  
  
He threw Frank up across the rump of the startled horse and pounded it hard with his fist as he took the reigns in his hand, running along side as it gained speed. Then, at the last possible moment, he hopped up on one foot and slid his boot into the stirrup, spreading over the horse just as there came a call from the rain.  
  
"There he goes!" It was Thaddeus. "He's getting away. Jesus Christ! Jesse James is getting away!"   
  
He turned dumbfounded to the men around him, an angry expression spreading over his old, gray face. "What the hell are you just standing there for? Shoot him!"  
  
Many fumbled to reload their rifles with fresh powder and amalgam balls. But just as the raised their rifles to fire, a crackle of fusillade came from the rooftop opposite the bank, the gattling gun chattering as the men were mowed down in beastly explosions of red. Those that could, turned to fire upon the broad gattling, catching whatever meat they could.  
  
Looking up from their facedown position on the boardwalk where they had thrown themselves, Cole and Bob peeked up to identify their savior. Slumped over its crank, was the ghostly corpse of Comanche Tom. 


	8. Headstrong Crumble

I'd like to apologize for you who unfortunately read the first Chapter 8 i threw up here. let's just say it was VERY VERY premature and i was being a lazy jerk by not revising my work. so sorry loves. here's a better one for your troubles!!!   
  
~  
  
CHAPTER EIGHT - Headstrong Crumble  
  
  
  
"Frank?" Jesse turned his head, getting an eyeful of Frank's blond hair, his head lying on his shoulder.  
  
  
  
"Yeah?" he didn't have the strength to raise it up to look at him, only to slur his words against his brother's shoulders in a weak, fading voice.  
  
"You alive still?"   
  
"Just barely." He coughed hoarsely after the words in Jesse's ear, digging his forehead hard into Jesse's neck as an answer to the pain; sagging as a new weight against his back. His hands were laced loosely around Jesse's waist, his frame bouncing with the horse.  
  
"Hang on," Jesse said, peeking a look behind him at the shadow of some of the Rain's men hot on his trail. "I'm gonna get you someplace where you can sleep. Then it's over, alright Frank? It's all over after that."  
  
The shadows were riding hard, their silhouettes a smudge through the pelting rain that turned the dark sky a deep blue. Jesse didn't want to tell Frank of the men still at their heels, he just wanted them to vanish.  
  
"We make the hills and we'll be home free." He glanced to his brother again, feeling him shake against him out of coldness and weakness.  
  
"If we make the hills." Frank said tiredly, his breath ragged against Jesse's wet neck, sending a shiver down his spine. His clothes were soaked through until not an inch of him was left dry, his hair dripping, his coat sticky and heavy.  
  
Gritting his teeth behind his pressed lips, Jesse leaned down towards the horse's gray neck, getting a whiff of its rancid breath as it came out in a milky plume, smelling like rotting grass as it rolled around his cheeks.  
  
He kicked the horse hard, watching its ears lie back against its head as it pumped and kicked itself up to a new level of speed. Jesse could feel the lapels of his long coat kick out, caught in the wind and fighting the buttons that held it closed around him.  
  
Frank groaned in his ear fitfully as a hand left Jesse's waist and went for his side, wide palming his wound. And Jesse couldn't do anything to help.   
  
He didn't want to look back again, hoping he would outride his followers, or at least not see them when they rode up and shot him in the back.  
  
"I can almost see the hills Frank," he said to his big brother, feeling Frank's face roll on his shoulder so that it was now facing outward, the back of his head against the side of Jesse's neck. "We can make it. You stay alive, you hear me?"  
  
Frank moaned an answer and Jesse kicked the horse harder, hoping it had another speed in its stretching lungs and twisting legs.  
  
It seemed like hours before the ground began to break into bumpier and bumpier terrain, signaling that they were now crossing the footsteps to the small, shallow line of hills that had grown forward from the horizon as Jesse'd ridden closer.   
  
His brother had almost slipped loose off the back of the horse a couple times throughout their ride, Jesse quick to grab him by his coat and haul him back against his back, lacing his arms around his waist again. Each time Frank almost fell, he'd have to slow the horse, and each time he almost swore he could hear Rain's men catching up, their horse's hooves slamming into the soil, gaining ground.  
  
But each glance he took back, he could see them getting smaller and smaller until they were nothing but a tiny group of black specks on the horizon, blotted out by the rolling gray clouds.  
  
"Hang on brother," he spoke to himself. "We're almost done." He tipped the horse to the left of a sudden pleat that rose up through the middle of the first small bluff, forcing it up the hill until he could hear the horse's haggard breathing without straining and he could feel its muscles shaking from between his legs.  
  
Just as they cleared the top of the hill and were making their way down the other side, much too fast for the sodden earth, the horse caught its foot in the mud. It came down on its long face right into the muddy ground, not able to stick its curled legs back out fast enough to catch itself.  
  
As its massive body flipped ass over nose, Jesse felt Frank's weight slide off him and watched the dark tan blur of his soaked clothes go flying overhead.   
  
Frank hit the ground with a cry of pain and surprise as his body curled up and he went rolling clear of the tumbling horse, safe of the stallion. Jesse, however, could not.  
  
Somewhere in the midst of the flip, the reign had slipped down over one of his hands, catching at his wrist as the horse rolled and spun and kicked in panic, knocking his body like a rubber ball tied to a paddle.  
  
He felt the horse give him a hard kick to the ribs as he spun up into the air then came back down with a hard crunch, an immense pain rupturing through his hand as the horse came to a stop at the bottom of the hill, stopping him too.  
  
Cursing, he lay there a moment, feeling the world slowly bend down to stop around him as his head filled with a cloudy pain and a wetness roamed down his upper lip to his cheek.  
  
Rising with heavy breaths, he wiped at the blood on his face, before looking down onto his opposite aching palm, surprised to find a stick run clean through his hand.   
  
Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the haft of the stick with his good hand and pulled hard with one big yank, curling over his fist as the pain came. Reaching into his shirt, he pulled out one of the stolen handkerchiefs and wrapped it tightly about his hand, tying it off and checking that he still had movement in it.   
  
"Jesse!" Frank's voice sounded thin and anguished as Jesse craned his head to see Frank scuttling around on his back with his elbows, taking his palms off his wounds to look and become frightened at the blood. The crash having knocked him conscious and somewhat belligerent of the cause of his wounds. "Jesse?"  
  
"I'm coming." Jesse called quickly as he pushed himself up onto his feet, tearing his caught wrist loose from the reign and causing the wheezing horse to give a cry of surprise from its supine position.  
  
His boots shucked in the mud, causing him to slip and slide and flail as he scampered through it, dropping next to his brother and putting his hands out towards him.  
  
"It's alright Frank," he grabbed at his brother's wrists, trying to calm him down as he held him so he couldn't crawl around on his elbows anymore. His face was caked, the rain doing good to try and clear some away from his cheeks and forehead, but it still remained in his eyes and around his lips.  
  
He lifted Frank's clutching hand from his side, revealing the bloodied shirt beneath the open vest, a sudden thought coming over him. "We gotta get you changed." He said as he looked towards the capsized horse, heaving in the gully like a drunk in the gutter. Then, he looked down to his own shirt and suddenly began stripping. He had his shirt almost all the way unbuttoned before Frank had the sentience to realize what he was doing.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" The words came out like it was just another stupid thing Jesse might've done back home, not forced by conviction or bellicose.  
  
"I'm switching shirts with you Frank," he told him as he lifted him up and laced Frank's shoulders beneath his own, working to unbutton Frank's shirt with his head against his shoulder, working blind.  
  
"Why?" Frank looked down as Jesse pulled the sticking shirt off of his packed wound, exposed the stuffed stocking still crushed inside his shotgun hole. He cringed through a lopsided smile as Jesse shook him from his long coat and pulled off his shirt, covering his bare shoulders quickly back up before the rain could get to too much of him. From all the blood he'd lost, Frank was in a drunk-like state, just wandering between pain and death, not really knowing which side to let himself fall into.  
  
"Cause your shirt may come in handy for us later, plus, mine's clean and warmer than yours."  
  
Frank just smiled passively as Jesse replaced and buttoned up his mackinaw, before redressing himself in Frank's bloody shirt and his own long coat.  
  
He rubbed at Frank's shoulders briskly, careful to watch out for the bullet wound as he tried to heat Frank up, then decided movement was the best thing he could do for him. "Come on, we gotta get going." Jesse started picking up Frank by the shoulder, digging in under his armpits as Frank's body lulled limply to fight, barely enough strength left in him to live, he'd already given up on himself anyway.  
  
"Leave me here Jesse," his eyes had closed when Jesse looked to them. "You gotta keep riding."  
  
"Shut up Frank." Jesse said as he lifted Frank up with a grunt and wrapped his bad arm around his shoulder, as they began forward, back towards the horse.  
  
It took effort to keep his limp brother standing and get the horse up, but Jesse managed to do so and now worked hard to get his brother up into the saddle.  
  
"Come on," Jesse pulled at Frank's bad leg to get his boot up in the stirrup, then began to push him up from his back the thighs. "Get your ass up onto that horse."  
  
Frank, as he clambered up, sort of fell over the horse at the end, mangled across the saddle as Jesse jumped up in front of him, turning to situate him as he had been before the fall. His ribs ached horribly from the kick and his hand stung considerably, but he knew he brother was in worse pain. The pitch may have knocked a few things loose in him that might not be so easy to fix; Jesse had to get him to a doctor and fast.  
  
He kicked the horse in its hard flanks, but the horse took a step and stopped stubbornly. Frank shook against him, his body pressing in against his brother's for warmth, his entire frame shivering from the wetness of the rain that still hadn't softened.  
  
"Come on you sorry piece of shit," he kicked again, and again, the horse refused to move. Not in the mood, Jesse reached into his gun belt and drew out his pistol, twisting around to see the horse's rump as much as he needed to.  
  
Lowering the pistol, he fired, taking off a small red strip of sinew with the bullet, sending the startled horse off through the slight gorge like a frightened lightning bolt.  
  
~  
  
Jesse'd lost track of Rain's men well before the time he'd hit the mouth of the small lane that cut its way through an orchard. The trees shadowed the sandy lane comfortingly, its large green trees swaying in the rain as they whizzed by Jesse as nothing more than an evergreen blur.  
  
  
  
The horse was still shaking beneath him, running out of energy for good as he took it for all it was worth. He would kill the horse riding it if he had to, as long as it meant saving his brother.  
  
He'd seen the lane from about a half a mile away, strange as it sat alone in the middle of the dotted grassland. His heart had vaulted into his throat with joy as he'd seen it rise up from the horizon like a new sun, his hastily chosen salvation whether they welcomed him or not.   
  
"We're here Frank," Jesse smiled to his unconscious brother bouncing pale behind him. He kicked the horse for the umpteenth time since they'd picked themselves up from the stumble, even though he got the same speed as before.   
  
Well before he made his way halfway up the lane, he heard barking off in the distance, their harsh voices catching and held by the wind. Dogs, that meant people still lived there.  
  
As a white fence came into view, smiling like a big toothy grin at the end of the lane, he saw a figure make itself distinguishable on the wide maw of the front porch, carrying a large shotgun over its yoke shoulders. The man looked bigger due to the fact that he wore a thick buffalo skin coat wrapped around his shoulders, hulking his already broad frame. The hairs on the coat were matted and twisted from extensive fatigue, much like the twist of sharp white hair that sprayed up from his flaking head.  
  
The two dogs circled viciously at the fence as the old man made his way as quick as his bowed legs could down the steps, flipping out his shotgun to hold it aloft, with one outstretched arm. The opposite sleeve of his large, hairy coat swayed empty at his side, that arm gone up to the shoulder.  
  
"Don't you come any closer you god damned Yankee!" Taking offense to that, Jesse reached down and unbuttoned a couple of the buttons he'd done up on his coat, partially revealing Frank's borrowed shirt with its huge bloom of blood across his chest, the first step to his uncultured plan.  
  
He saw the man's shotgun sway back and forth aimlessly, unable to be held by only one old hand, giving Jesse an advantage.  
  
He swung his shoulders down low and stiffened as the horse's knees tore into the picket fence, snapping and ripping up the posts as it flip rolled and flew sideways threw the air, its caught feet launching it strangely.   
  
The old man fired one shot, which completely missed anything even remotely close to Jesse. But just as the report came out with a puff of smoke, the horse's neck snapped sideways and it opened its gummy lips to scream in pain when an explosion of blood came pouring out of its throat. More shot out from beneath its tail as it crashed down hard on its side, its heart having exploded. The landing snapped the horse's neck with a sharp, wet crack - a mercy killing as it slid to a stop near the porch base.  
  
Jesse let his body tumble as he felt his long coat lose its last button and come open, fully revealing the stained clothes to make it look as though the old man had shot him good. He let his body roll to a stop, even though his ribs screamed and the mud shoved its way up his nose and into his eyes as he slid facedown across their wet yard.  
  
He came to a stop about three feet from the old man's feet, his head buried sideways beneath his shoulder, just enough for him to see as he peeked out from beneath his lashes.  
  
The rowdy greyhounds barked and glared their teeth until they were summoned to quiet and clear off, instead wandering over to encircle and take nips at the dead horse.  
  
What worried Jesse a little was that he couldn't see Frank. But he didn't have time much to contemplate it when the old man's booted feet scuttled a bit closer to him timidly. The shotgun muzzle dug beneath his arm as he was hoisted up using by the gun used like a lever, flipping him onto his back to look into the face of the man he'd just shot.  
  
Jesse lay still, letting the thrust take him where it wanted to as his face was attacked by the rain, the drops digging into his eyes and clearing away some of the mud enough for him to see through squinting eyes.  
  
"Damn Yankees..." the old man breathed hard, standing over him enough to umbrella the rain from Jesse's face with his slick, balding head.  
  
He poked at Jesse's shoulder hard with his gun, digging the double barrel between his bones as he tried to make sure he was dead. The man looked up and over to the other man lying limp a few feet away, not moving, giving Jesse another leg up.   
  
He snatched up the gun with a firm, hard grip.  
  
"We ain't Yankees." Jesse gritted as he swung hard, tearing the shotgun from the man's hand and bringing it up into his angular jawbone, cracking it across the bottom, snapping the old man's head up. The man's feet lifted full off the ground as he spun back and landed belly down like a spineless fish.   
  
Slowly, cupping a hand gently to his roaring bruised chest, Jesse rose to his feet and twirled the shotgun up so that the butt now lay in his grip, pointing it towards the old man who lay stunned and bleeding from his split lip, but still conscious. "We need help." 


	9. Happy to See You Again

CHAPTER NINE - Happy to See You Again  
  
Stillwater Prison, Minnesota  
  
~  
  
They made their way down a long, dark shaft, lined with cages and old scarred arms sticking out of them, begging for something that couldn't be understood. A large barrel chested sheriff with his spurs clinking followed closely behind them, nudging them with his shotgun anytime one of them slowed.   
  
"What the hell is that?" Cole's face crumpled as the odoriferous stench crept into his nose. "Do you smell that?" The dark hallway smelled of defecation, vomit and piss. The floors and walls were cold stone so nothing could seep into them and disappear.  
  
"You'll get use to it," the guard said emotionlessly as he pressed his rifle into Cole and Bob's back, making them stumble forward a bit. The chains connecting their ankles, and the even shorted ones at their wrists, weren't much for movement as they hobbled.  
  
"Even if we don't," Bob said, leaning down to whisper to Cole. "They'll cure it." He looked up to where he could see the guards posted around the metal caging, a gallows stage standing in the open. "They'll hang us."   
  
As if summoned, the crashing of the bags echoed through the damp, stinking prison from outside the walls. Some of the newer men crammed into the cell jumped, while the archaic individuals lapped their rotten tongues over their toothless gums and shook their heads.  
  
"Here," the guard stopped them and palmed a handful of keys, working one into the log as it screamed open on its rusted hinges. "Find yourself a place to sit...and keep it, cause you're going to want it when another load of prisoners comes in."  
  
The guard went in before them, kicking at the man that scrambled back into the shadows, clearing a space to where the guard could then help Bob and Cole sit down the floor.  
  
He didn't take the chains off as he left, only stepped out and swung the door closed, locking it. The men started creeping back out from the shadows, lapping their gums in distaste at the new prisoners.  
  
"Uh...Cole?" Bob uttered anxiously as one of the toothless men came too close for comfort. Cole had worked his way up onto his feet using the wall and was making his way to the front of the bars. "What are you doing?"  
  
Ignoring him, Cole went up and reached out to grab onto the bars, pressing his face against their cold bodies.  
  
"Hey you yellow bellied bastard, this is against the law."  
  
The guard turned spitting and wiping at the excess. "What law?"  
  
"We're innocent."  
  
A smile played at the guard's lips. "You shittin' me?" he asked incredulously.  
  
"Honest to God."  
  
The guard waddled back over to where Cole stood, coming up to the bars with his keys well secured to his belt. "What didn't you do then?"  
  
"Sir, my brother, Bob Younger, and I took no part in that bank robbery up in Northfield. We were simply passing by when we were picked up under false - what's that word Frank taught you?"   
  
"I think you mean "allegations"." Bob said, trying to shoo away the crazy toothless old man, who was currently rubbing his head into Bob's stomach, cuddling like a sick creature.  
  
"Yeah," Cole turned back, "false allegations."   
  
"What's this?" The guard reached over and plucked a piece of paper from Cole's breast pocket, unfolding the paper he looked at it carefully, before turning it around. It was a WANTED poster, one with Cole and Bob's sketches on it, one he'd grabbed just to have around.  
  
"Shut yer lying trap boy." The guard cussed at him and crumpled it up, throwing at Cole's chest before licking his fingers for the aftertaste.  
  
Cole pushed his face closer to the guard's, smelling the tobacco on his breath, seeing it drip into his white beard.  
  
"Cole." Bob's shoulders dropped as he sighed in disbelief at what Cole was doing, pressing the old man back by one thin shoulder.   
  
Staring the man straight in the eye, Cole pursed his lips and shucked his throat with the back of his tongue, sending out a big gobbet of spit to hit right to the left of the man's crooked nose, catching him in the eye.   
  
The old man took his time in surprise, reaching up to wipe at the sloppy green globule and rub it with his fingers before stretching it out, riveted on it momentarily. Then, without letting any part of his body stop, he fumbled for his keys, unlocking the door and stepping inside.  
  
Cole goaded him on, up on his toes in the excitement of the fight just waiting for the chance to pop the old man one right in the jaw. But it was him who got the first lick.  
  
The guard swung out with his rifle butt and caught Cole right in the jaw, almost sending him sprawling but he quickly righted himself and swung his shackled hands in an arc, aiming for the guard's jaw, but fell short when the guard ducked low beneath his fists and kicked up high, connecting with Cole right between the legs, sending him to the ground. Then, as fast as that, the fight was over.  
  
"Hope you have stupid children ya piece o' shit..." And the guard kicked Cole while he was down, right smack in the nose with the heel of his boot, his face immediately rupturing in blood.   
  
Spitting on him in return, the guard turned and left without a backward glance.   
  
"That was stupid Cole." Bob sighed as he put his hands on his brother's shoulders, waiting until he stopped coughing and spitting up the running blood.  
  
"Shut the hell up." Cole hissed as Bob rolled him onto his back, turning out his leg to let Cole rest upon it like a pillow. Bob let his head fall back against the cold stone wall, taking another look up at the guards standing in the sunlight with their rifles loaded over their shoulders.  
  
"Think we'll ever see Jesse and Frank again?"  
  
Cole felt the blood on his face, a pain swelling his nose as his head rolled on Bob's leg. "No," Cole said through the blood. "I hope we don't."  
  
He'd never know how right he was...  
  
~  
  
Henceforth, if reviews go down, so will quality and quickness between chapters...don't give up on me guys, it's almost over...have some heart: REVIEW and you'll make this world a better place for me to live in! 


	10. Faded Pig

thank you so much you guys. i really love you all!!!  
  
CHAPTER TEN - Faded Pig  
  
  
  
He crashed through the door, kicking it wide onto an open entry way. Only a table and a chandelier greeting him. "Anyone home?!" he yelled, one hand gripped the old man's collar while the other held the shotgun against the back of his head at an upward angle. Frank's arms were around Jesse's neck, his breath wheezing in Jesse's ears as they drug their way into the house.  
  
"Someone besides you live here?" The old man hesitated his answer, but then, feeling like he'd be shot if the truth wasn't spoken, let it out.   
  
"Yes sir," he mumbled, with his rupturous white mutton chops working on his jaw like great wings. "My grandchildren."  
  
Jesse kicked into the dining room area, finding the table laden with dishes and tightened his grip on the old man's collar as he swiped arm and shotgun against the dishes, knocking them to the floor.  
  
"Where are they?" He helped Frank up onto the table as the clatter and smashing brought two women into the room.   
  
The two girls were pretty, one a full head taller than the other. The taller of the two had her brown hair pinned back haphazardly, tucked back around her head as her dark eyes darted here an there, looking from Jesse to his brother edgily. She wore a waist length, white bodice with a gold chain hanging down the front of it. Its outturned collar had a thick stripe of dark violet and the long violet skirt beneath it wrapped ruffled about her legs.   
  
The smaller one, looking about eighteen, had a beautiful and soft face, with long brown hair that hung over her shoulders like a shroud. She wore a striped bodice and solid skirt of the same color as her sister, but instead of a chain, her cupping collar held a broach of ivory. Atop her crown of brown hair was pinned a lacy cap that only sat about the apex of her skull. Her almond eyes didn't ever leave Jesse; her knitted black shall snatched tightly around her shoulders with her long, delicate fingers.   
  
Both girls were beautiful.  
  
"Colonel?" The younger girl, with a swoop of her older sister's arm, took steps back out into the entryway, giving them space to move and possibly snatch away should the moment deem necessary.   
  
"Get back in here." Jesse said though clenched teeth as he brought the gun back against the man's white hair, the younger girl stumbling, but her sister holding her back.  
  
Jesse took a step forward, bringing the man with him as the girls took another step back. When he took the third step forward, and they back, he was out in the entryway again.  
  
"Move one more step, you son of a bitch, and I'll shoot you dead." Jesse turned to see a man on the bottom of the curling stairs, his rifle muzzle sideways through the banisters, a cold blue eye over the sight. "Drop your gun."  
  
Deciding that he was no good to Frank dead, he let the gun slide from his hand and drop to the carpeted floor, the old man stepping away from him and back towards his family, holding his daughters close as they consumed him.   
  
"Now your gunbelt," the man said simply, watching him carefully as Jesse's hand went for his belt. "That's it, easy now." Letting the weight drop to the floor, it clattered against his boot. "Kick it away." He did so, the belt not able to slide far on the carpet.  
  
The man on the stairs slowly rose to his feet, exposing himself as a man of regular stature, with thin, strong arms that held the rifle sideways and aloft. He had a splash of sun wheat hair that was parted down the middle and was grown long, meshing slightly with the golden stubble that pierced his chin and ran down his neck into his collar. He was about Frank's age, maybe more, but looked worn like he'd seen too many things in such a short period of time.  
  
Suddenly, there came a moan from the dining room, signaling Frank's awakening, and the man's rifle swung towards the wall. Jesse dropped and rolled, grabbing his gun as his fingers touched the floor and coming up with his pistol pressed against the blond man's forehead,  
  
quick as a flash.  
  
The blond man took a heartbeat to raise his rife to Jesse's chest, pressing the barrel against it.  
  
"Robert!" Called the shorter of the two young girls, but she didn't stray a foot closer. She was eyeing Frank's blood that stained Jesse's shirt, still exposed and gleaming in the hanging oil lamps lights.  
  
From the dining room, there came a crash of plates and china, crumbling against the floor as Frank stumbled around, awake again and disoriented. Jesse could hear his wheezing breaths through the hollow walls, his fingers clutching at the bureau tops as he tried to keep his footing.   
  
From the corner of his eye, Jesse saw the girl who'd called out make a move towards the door, but her brother's words stopped her.  
  
"Don't you go in there Elsie." The man on the stairs, Robert, said, keeping his eyes pinned into Jesse's. "Don't you even take a breath towards that room."   
  
"Robert," she said again, this time almost a pleading.  
  
"No, Elsie, it's a trick."  
  
"It's not a trick. Please," Jesse spoke, and the whole room stopped breathing to listen. "My brother's dying, he needs help."  
  
"Shut up," Robert pressed the gun harder against Jesse's chest, peeling a pain in his ribs as he pressed his own gun harder into Robert's forehead. When the man gave out a pent up breath, Jesse could smell alcohol on it.  
  
Jesse could hear Frank begin to scramble around again after having fallen silent for a moment, his hands sliding across the wall as he moaned his brother's name in a hoarse, loud whisper. Suddenly then, there was heavy thump as Frank fell to the floor. Jesse's head turned to the wall, distracted, and was surprised at how quick Robert made his move.  
  
His limbs were fluid as he tipped his rifle up hard and knocked Jesse's pistol out of his hand, leaving an abrasion from the dried mud as it slid off his forehead and went flying into the air. It flipped once before coming back down just as Robert's hand reached up to grab it, keeping Jesse busy with a quick flip of the rifle, so the butt came up and struck him right at the bottom of his jaw - like he'd done to the old man. As Jesse arced back and went sprawling, his head caught hard on the wall as he came crashing down, clouding his vision with dancing black blotches onto the carpet.  
  
Meanwhile, Robert had both Jesse's pistol and his spinning rifle fully cocked and pointed at Jesse's spread body, aiming for his heart and head.   
  
"Get up!" Robert ordered, heaving the rifle. Jesse, coming up onto his elbows for a moment and scowling at the man, raising a hand to feel his smarting jaw before coming up onto his knees, his head waist-high to Robert now. The rifle was pointed at his head now, while the pistol had swayed down to his crotch.  
  
"You need to help my brother," Jesse spoke softly, tasting the coppery sting of blood in his mouth, guessing Robert had knocked a tooth loose.  
  
"I'd lick a pig before I'd help your brother." The man sneered hard, taking a step forward so that the rifle was between Jesse's eyes. Jesse's dark eyes didn't move from their glazed glare from beneath his tangle of black eyebrows.  
  
"He's dying," maybe it the fact that he wouldn't be able to get to Frank alive, or maybe it was the exhaustion running through him; whatever it was, Jesse suddenly didn't care about his own life. "You have to help him."  
  
"I said," the man reached back with the pistol, his face coming down to cloud Jesse's vision. "I'd rather lick a shitting pig."   
  
"Robert don't!" cried the girl as Jesse got another blow across the side of the head with his own pistol butt, rupturing the corner of his mouth as he went back down onto the carpet. He coughed as a rush of blood came to his tongue, some dribbling out onto the fine rug.  
  
"Stupid son of a bitch." The blond man stepped up over him, planting his feet around his chest and bringing the rifle down a moment towards the center of Jesse's chest, letting it settle there. "Ain't so tough now, are you?"  
  
Suddenly, a smile broke wide on Jesse's face, his eyes opening to meet Robert's.  
  
"Why the hell are you smiling?"  
  
Without answering, Jesse kicked his legs up hard, the toe of his boot catching Robert right in the small of his spine, knocking him forward as he lurched and crashed hard into the corner of the entryway, shattering a large blue vase with his knee.  
  
Jesse kicked himself up onto his feet in a flash, beginning to roll back his sleeves and stripping the makeshift bandaging from his hand, soaked and heavy and threw it to the floor, clenching his hands into fists.  
  
Robert spun on his heel and mimicked Jesse, rolling up his sleeves and sticking out his fists as he came forward, both of them beginning to circle. "I'm gonna kick your ass." Robert goaded as they circled, Jesse only answering by the wily smile plastered across his face.  
  
"Robert, stop this." The taller of the two girls said this, she had a strong thin voice, one that actually made Robert hesitate before he shook himself back into the fight. "You're drunk."  
  
Robert licked his lips, taking a swing out at Jesse, only knicking his jaw with his knuckles as Jesse answered with an uppercut. He caught Robert across the side of the jowls, not enough to knock him anywhere, only to stun him as he took his other bloody fist to his stomach.  
  
Robert threw his shoulder down and into Jesse's ribs, driving him back against the wall as stacked plates on the other side shook on their shelves. He held one hand high to protect his face as he other tried to deflect the heavy fists coming towards everything else that wasn't covered.  
  
He could hear the two girls call from behind them, but their words were lost in the heat and breaths of the two men. He struck out blindly, catching Robert in the cheek and sent him off him, allowing him to step away from the wall momentarily.  
  
Robert came rushing forward again though, his fists gripping Jesse's collar as he lifted him clean off the ground and knocked him hard against the wall again, trying to physically force him through the divide.  
  
Jesse kicked out hard, catching Robert in the solar plexus, causing him to lose his grip and letting him slump hard to the ground, his face stinging. He was up like a spring though as Robert came back, reaching around the back of his head and giving him a knee to the stomach. Jesse went down on his hands and knees as Robert caught him with the toe of his boot right across his throat and peeled him over onto his back led by his head, his hand going wide to knick the butt of his pistol as he sprawled.  
  
One hand grabbed at his bruised throat while the other was stretched out above his head, trying to find and finger the pistol, having trouble getting a good hold on it. Each flick of his finger against its handle scooted it a bit farther away.  
  
Robert, preoccupied with the next wail to Jesse's side with his boots, was surprised when Jesse stretched and arced up onto the balls of his feet and his head, snatching up the hilt of the gun in one fail jerk and falling sideways, swinging around to spin and wrench himself upward away from Robert's foot reach.  
  
His quick rise put Robert's final stomp as nothing more than an action to squash a large tick beneath the rug and before he knew it, he was backed up against the wall with the pistol at his forehead.  
  
"Don't!" came a cry from the girls behind him.  
  
He shoved the gun hard into the man's head, tired from the fighting and the riding and the worrying.   
  
"Do it..." The man shoved his head out on his neck, despite the force trying to hold it back and spit on Jesse's face when he spoke. Allen Pinkerton had said the same thing. "You know you wanna shoot me..."  
  
"Yeah I do..." Jesse admitted as he cocked back the hammer, not seeing the man flinch in the least. He took him up by the collar of his shirt to try and force the issue, wanting something out of the man, but not what he was getting.  
  
"Then why don't you, you gutless scum sucker?"  
  
Jesse gritted his teeth and squeezed his finger around the trigger, but didn't ever pull it all the way. Instead, his grip slackened and he stepped away from the man, "My brother needs a doctor. And I ain't gonna waist my time killing you while he dies in the next room."  
  
He was about to turn when something blunt and hard shattered against his head. And as he fell to the ground, he could see the old man standing above him, a broken vase in his hands as his vision faded to black. 


	11. Melon Cold Absorbtion

Jenni, Bookbinder's Daughter, Conookie, and :D i love you guys right down to your threads...this entire story's dedicated to you. for making everything possible  
  
CHAPTER ELEVEN - Melon Cold Absorption   
  
"Frank?" He came up straight from what he thought was a dream, the piss poor excuse for a blanket off to one side of him. He'd been stripped of everything except his shirt, pants, and suspenders. Everything else had been taken, including his stockings and boots, to impede him from walking, he guessed.   
  
The blood on Frank's switched shirt had begun to dry now that he was out of the rain, the large bloom growing hard like a circular plate as he put his fingers to it.   
  
Blinking his vision into focus, Jesse took a look around the barn they'd moved him to. He was lying on a thatch of musty smelling straw with some mule's old pack blanket thrown over him to keep out the cold vainly. The barn was huge, lined with horse stalls and some with horses in them, snuffing out white plumes of breath through their large nostrils.   
  
Pain was evident every time he moved, singing like a hundred larks trapped in his ribcage and his skull, especially towards the back. He reached up to the back of his head and felt a rather large welt there, but no split skin upon further investigation.   
  
"Frank?" He called out, his loud voice stirring some of the drowsy horses but no other sound coming up to determine that his brother was in the same vicinity.  
  
Crimping as he rose, he pushed himself to his feet and went stumbling towards the front door. As he threw his shoulder into the chain locked doors, he heard the rain still coming down outside, pounding into the ground and diffusing any sense of life anywhere outside of his new makeshift prison.  
  
With one arm cupped about his sore torso, he tilted himself upward to see the loft skirting around the walls of the barn, seeing if there could be a possible escape route. But there was neither a ladder to climb up there, nor any sort of opening that he could crawl out through.  
  
Shivering and bringing his arms about his shoulders as the cold swept passed him, he bumped his bruises, sucking in his breath. Treading to the middle of the almost empty barn, he stretched out and looked down his collar, seeing if he could see just what'd been done to him. But not getting enough light in, pulled the hems of it out of his pants and unbuttoning it, revealing a nice mess of bruises, ranging in color to their grievance.  
  
The yellow and brown ones hurt the worst, looking like a rotting fruit might, while the purple stung but were easily ignored. Touching the back of his swollen head once more to feel the bump and the sharp pain in punishment for the touch, he heard someone at the doors, jangling the chain that bound them together.  
  
Deciding not to move, giving himself space if he needed it, he listened as the lock was unlocked and the chains were dropped, before he watched the eleven foot doors wobble inwards as a man about a head higher than himself walked into the barn, his dark collar pulled up high about his neck with his bowler hat pulled low over his brow.  
  
Jesse's first instinct that this was an entire set up by some of the Rain's men, having somehow gotten ahead of him and had finally caught the great Jesse James.  
  
But when the man raised his head, Jesse knew he wasn't anyone even associated to Rains or anyone of the like. The man turned out to be just a kid, looking the same age as Jesse but younger in the way that he didn't hold his shoulders as astutely when he walked. His long black duster hung like a shroud around his thin frame, skirting at his ankles with his bare hands shoved deeply into his pockets. The coat was left open - despite the cold - to reveal two down turned revolvers at ready on his belt, their ivory handles standing out vigorously against his otherwise all black attire. His black shirt with thin white pinstripes weren't enough to be seen, especially because of the deep black vest he wore over it.  
  
As he came closer, Jesse was quick to notice his burning blue eyes, under shadowed by a healthy swath of a black goatee encircling his mouth. It looked much like Frank's, only more close cut and without the sideburns coming down in front of his ears.  
  
The man stopped a few feet away from Jesse, his hands coming out of his pockets, pink-knuckled and pale from the cold. One carried a thick brown book that looked to have papers and all sorts of things stuffed inside of its leaves, while the other went to cradle itself on the inside of his revolver hilt and his waist.  
  
"Where's my brother?" Jesse asked and man turned his shoulder to him, still looking at him with somewhat interest as Jesse rebuttoned his shirt.  
  
"He's in the house." The man made a motion towards back where he'd come from with his book.  
  
"Did you kill him?" Jesse felt the hair rise on the back of his neck at the thought.  
  
The man just tilted an eyebrow as if it were a ludicrous idea, the look in his bright blue eyes seeing Jesse as a concerned equal. "No," he shook his head and never turned away from Jesse's eyes. "We just got him sleeping."  
  
"What about Robert?" He was going on what he remembered, finding that his arms had strayed back around him to try and keep out the cold.  
  
The man's head tilted back and he licked at his bottom lip, the light revealing a scar trailing up from the corner of the man's mouth, fluttering up to weave back and forth lazily until it stopped at the side of his eye, the skin pale and raised, a long old scar. It did nothing to complicate his uniquely handsome features, but it was something that caught and held the eye.  
  
The man just shook his head and put it back down, covering his face with the shadow of his hat's brim, hiding the scar. "He went away."  
  
"Where?" Jesse asked, taking a step towards the man, who didn't move from his position.  
  
"Probably into town."  
  
"Where is town?"  
  
"Black Hawk? About a three hour ride from here."  
  
Jesse let out a sigh and it came out white, his swollen lip stinging. "You come in here to check on me?"  
  
The man tipped his head to his hand, running his thumb along the thick spine of his brown book, the cover in horrible condition from extensive use, the once red-edged pages now flipped to a musty pink gray. It took Jesse a moment to realize it was a bible.  
  
"Or to kill me?"  
  
The man's head tilted back up as he looked him straight in the eye. "I need a reason to kill you?"  
  
"Hell," Jesse didn't let his arms free as he talked, feeling like ice was growing up his bare feet and enclosing up his legs. "I busted into your house and destroyed your property. I'd of shot me by now." He rubbed his frozen hands down his shoulders, surprised at the fact that there was little feeling there.  
  
The man licked at his teeth before dropping his shoulder and looking to the ground. Then, he came forward, his one hand coming out of the cradle on his belt towards Jesse, revolver-less to hang by his side.  
  
Jesse figured the man pitied him, but knew the man wasn't a deadhead. The kid, in fact, looked silently sharp through those brilliant blue eyes, something Jesse didn't really ever want to touch with his own brain.   
  
"We've got supper going in the house, I can fix you up with a bowl and a room if you're willing."  
  
Jesse just looked at him.   
  
"You willing?" He said.  
  
"Sure."  
  
"If you're gonna be here and you want your brother alive, no bullshit." He was deadly serious.  
  
Jesse tipped his head, fully agreeing. "No bullshit."  
  
Then, that revolver-less hand came out towards Jesse, wanting his own. Stiffly, Jesse reached out and took the man's long, thin strong hand in his and they shook, looking each other in the eye bluntly and intently.   
  
"Charlie Ford." The man introduced himself.  
  
"Jesse James." He was surprised that the man didn't hesitate on his name, in fact, he did little more than turn his back to him and head towards the door, not slowing a pace as Jesse caught up.  
  
Charlie pushed the doors wide and drew his collar up around his neck again, as the rain pounded into his shoulders. Jesse felt Frank's shirt immediately plaster to his shoulders and chest, the bloodstain growing soft again. With the barn doors closed behind them, they made their way out into the full force of the rain, heading towards the house, neither man straying a step ahead of the other.  
  
As Jesse's bare, cold feet sloughed through the muddy ground and up onto the lane he'd come barreling down only a few hours before, he saw what he hadn't seen on the first sight of the house. Its backside was pressed up against the large hillside, the broad white face of it shining out against the dark velvet sky and blurred hill.   
  
The house was ornately carved, with cloven pillars and chapel-like windows gleaming on its front. Standing vertically were white, fancy carved barge boards that covered the whole exterior of the house, looking old and almost Victorian in a sense, but not on such a grand scale. The house obviously belonged to someone of wealth, but they were serene about it as they lived in and around the area.  
  
As they came upon it, the front fence was still broken from his bust through with the horse and the dead horse still lay capsized in the front yard. A great streak of mud leading like a trail up to its dead body from the slide.  
  
Charlie and Jesse sidestepped the horse and went up onto the porch, Jesse silently giving thanks that there was finally a cover from the rain that had again soaked him completely through.  
  
As they stepped into the door, he was motioned to stand where he was and did so without resistance, seeing that the entryway - which had once been in a state of disarray - was now somewhat cleaned up. Only little fragments of the crushed vase and the drying carpet made evidence of him even being there.  
  
The smaller woman from before came out with her hands at the apron on her dress when she saw Jesse mopped in the corner, she stopped, just staring. Charlie went to her and had to take her by the shoulders, telling her something so quiet Jesse couldn't hear it. But when the man turned back, he was pulling his soaking coat off his shoulders and laying it across her arms, giving her his hat as well, revealing a head of sweaty black hair.  
  
Then, without saying anything, Charlie began to scoot the girl back into the door she'd come out of, even when she put up a protest. Turning, as the girl left the room, he came towards Jesse and was opened him mouth to talk when the girl came back in. Having shed Charlie's hat and coat in the dining room, she now held a pair of new pants in her arms, slightly wet from her previous burden.  
  
Charlie took them from her and handed them over to Jesse, who unfolded them and looked at them admiringly. Then the two just simply turned their backs to him, Charlie putting his arms around the girl's shoulders to keep her from turning back.  
  
Pulling himself out of the corner, Jesse unshouldered his suspenders and pushed down his trousers, switching into the other clean pants.  
  
When he looked up, he saw the girl glance away from the reflection in a large mirror at the back of the hall and he couldn't help but smile.  
  
Clearing his throat to signal he was done, Charlie turned and took Jesse's dirty, wet pants, handing them to the girl and motioning for Jesse to follow him as he made his way up the stairs.  
  
The top of the stairs curled into a second floor that more clung to the walls of the house, most of the middle gone to see down into the first level. Breaking off into a long hallway was a group of doors, leading to separated rooms, about five in all. Four opposite each other on the sides of the hall while another one stood in the back. Charlie was pointing out rooms as they walked down them.  
  
On the left side of the wall, between the two doors, it broke off into another hallway, leading out towards the hillside. As they passed, Charlie gave him a quick tour.  
  
"Your brother is in here." He pointed to the hall that broke off into the hill, separated by a gap in stairs. "Your the next door down. I'm across from you. And the Colonel is in that room." He pointed to the far door at the end of the hall as he palmed open the door to Jesse's new room.  
  
The wallpaper was a collage of beautiful blue and gold marquees, diffused at the huge oak head of his bed that nearly touched the ceiling with its steepled headboard. His sheets were white and crisp and tucked nicely under the mattress. His pillow was fluffed and a blue quilt matching the walls had been turned to down, everything prepared.  
  
Jesse turned back to Charlie, who was standing in the doorway, his eyes down the hall.   
  
"How is he?"  
  
"I don't know." He confessed.  
  
Not liking that, Jesse shouldered his way past him, and went down the hall, breaking out into that off-joining hallway, opening a door to lead out into a little square of deck before another set of steps led up to the loft door. "Jesse."   
  
Jesse palmed himself in, craning his head until he saw Frank lying on his right side in the middle of a pile of blankets, all kicked down so that only one sheet was pulled across him.  
  
Frank was kicking and moaning, the girl having to grab him sometimes when he'd roll over on his stomach and groan.  
  
"What are you doing in here?" She asked, looking up from Frank as Jesse came over to him, worried.  
  
"What's wrong with him?" He bent over and shook his brother's shoulder, "Frank?" The woman tapped his arm, demanding he let him be.   
  
"I just got him to sleep, you're disturbing him..."  
  
"Why's he doing that?" Jesse stood back, watching his brother twist and moan.  
  
"It's the Laudaman, he's having delusions."  
  
"I thought you were out in the barn..." she looked to her brother, who tipped his head in apology. "Sorry Annie...couldn't keep him in the barn, n'case Rob came back in to put his horse away. I don't want to have to bury anyone in this weather."   
  
Nodding dismissively, the girl moved over towards a black belly stove near the corner of the loft, tucking her hands into her dress apron to lift a pitcher of milk and vinegar from its top. She moved it down and put it on the floor when she sat in the bedside chair.  
  
Frank was wheezing hoarsely and he coughed for long moments after each breath, the woman reaching out gently to put a hand on his shoulder until he quieted, then went about stirring the vinegar in the milk with a long wooden spoon.   
  
"What's that?-" Jesse began.  
  
Suddenly, Frank's eyes rolled beneath his eyelids and fluttered open. His face was a pasty white, save for the redness about his eyes, the large droplets of sweat augmenting his paleness as they rolled down his face.  
  
"Jesse -" he just barely got out his name, before a coughing fit seized him by the chest.  
  
The woman was up out of her chair and leaning over him, a couple strands of hair pulling free of her hairpins and hanging about her face in brown sausage curls before she pushed them back behind her ears. Frank whimpered in pain as she consoled him. "It's alright, just lie still. I've got you..." She stroked his hair and face.  
  
"That's it," she soothed as he began to calm, "Easy. You're alright." She rubbed at his shoulders softly, as Jesse had done so many times before, to try and bring warmth to him.  
  
"Charlie?" She turned over her shoulder without letting go of Frank. "Put a couple vinegar curds into that cloth on the table, would you?" Charlie did so, handing the lumpy cloth to the woman who immediately pressed it against Frank's arm wound. Pulling up the hem of his shirt out from his pants, she did the same to his side wounds. Frank's face twisted for a moment as she pushed them into the blood, then, his face turned soft as the warm liquid soothed his raw, torn skin.  
  
As he slackened, the woman leaned off him and Jesse watched his eyes slide close. Working her way around the small, crowded space, she went back to the stove and held her hands out towards it, testing its heat, before she put a big bowl of water on top of it. Then, she came back over and pulled the covers up over Frank's shoulders, tucking them around his still rocking body, before sitting back and looking at Jesse.  
  
"The doctor comes tomorrow morning, sunrise at the earliest depending on the train. Usually it's on time though." Charlie said, seeing the concern. "I'm going tomorrow if -"  
  
"I'm coming with you." There was no question in his voice.  
  
Charlie thought about it, but never said a word.  
  
Rising, Annie went back to the simmering bowl and dipped her hand into it, before removing it from the stove and bringing it back near her as she sat down again. Reaching in, she took out one of the towels draped across the bottom of the bowl and wrung out some of the extra water, pulling the covers back down from Frank's torso.  
  
"If you boys don't mind, he needs to sleep and you need to get yourself a new pair of clothes." She cocked a thin eyebrow towards Jesse.  
  
"This's Jesse..." but Charlie's words were bitten off.  
  
"So I gathered, and what about his name?" She pointed down to his brother.  
  
"His name's Frank," Jesse commented and the woman turned away.  
  
"I need you two out of here. Now go on." She began wiping down Frank's chest with the warm water, soothing him. Mopping up the sweat from his face and his chest, she re-dipped it before she let it set across his chest, warming him.  
  
Jesse looked once to his brother, Charlie catching him by the shoulder as he started towards the door, taking him with him. "He'll be alright, my sister'll watch him."  
  
Jesse watched until he couldn't see anymore, his neck craning to see her take another cloth from the bowl wrap it across Frank's throat, calming his coughing as best she could. Before the door was shut on his face. 


	12. The Liver Gentleman

again, another horrible, horrible bashing...this time on our dear Frank...and Bookbinder's daughter? those bagels and coffe do sound good *g*  
  
CHAPTER TWELVE - The Liver Gentleman  
  
Jesse hadn't slept the entire night and by the time he'd just closed his eyes and gotten comfortable, there was a knock at the door and Charlie came in, fully dressed and packing clothes.  
  
"Get up Jesse." He said, throwing the clothes onto the foot of Jesse's bed. Then, he stood like a statue with his rifle down at his side, waiting for Jesse to rise.  
  
Sitting, Jesse rubbed at his eyes, not really feeling like it'd been an entire night yet.  
  
"We're leaving."  
  
Throwing his feet over the side of the bed, he plucked up his underwear and pulled it around his shoulders again, reaching down a moment to kiss Zee's necklace before tucking it beneath his collar. Then, pulling at the clothes, he slowly and somnolently tugged them on. Fisting on his new boots, he rose and took the large black duster and black stocking cap into his hands, following Charlie out the door.  
  
The buggy was ready outside, the horses snorting milk in the cold morning air. The sun was barely peeking up over the hills, giving them a shimmering gold lining.  
  
Yawning, Jesse climbed into the front of the buggy, up next to Charlie and drew his collar up around his neck, huddling down into the large, warm coat.  
  
Putting his foot up on the brake bar, Charlie swatted the reigns and gave a whistle, the team - well seasoned - began to trot.  
  
The ride had been long; Charlie and Jesse reaching the train platform by the time the sun had risen and given the sky a soft pink hue. Jesse'd slept some of the way, occasionally jostled awake by a rut in the road, or when he fell against Charlie's shoulder. But they hadn't talked, hadn't even said one word to each other.  
  
Now, Jesse had his arms crossed over his chest and he was leaning against the platform building. While Charlie stood tall behind the parapet, serene among the passing parasols that ladies had draped over their shoulders.   
  
By the time the sun had reached a man's standing height over the black stain of the hills, the train came puffing into the station. The engines screamed as they were commanded to stop and great puffs of white smoke billowed out from beneath its large, iron belly.  
  
Amid the rabble of the midnight passengers, a large, balding man with a crack in his nose and across his eye lumbered off, carrying a large black bag and the face of a man once caught under a stampede. He was dressed in little more than a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, suspenders, and a pair of tan trousers. The shirt wore tight over his large belly and stoop shouldered frame, mutated that way by the man-hours he had spent over riddled corpses from back in Chicago. His forearms were large and hairless, scrubbed clean and made strong from years of use. His thinning hair shone silver in the sunrise, his large white beard gleaming pink. The eye with the scar was glazed over, turned a milky blue and arrested in its socket, while the other twisted back and forth, looking for whom it was that requested him.  
  
"Dr. Fly?" Charlie went up to him, seeing the man nod, and put out his hand, shaking it firmly. "It's Charlie...it's a pleasure to see you again sir." A great grin spread across the pompous man's face.  
  
"Charlie my boy," the man rocked back on the heels of his shined shoes. "You're so big!"  
  
"The Colonel feeds us well enough, sir." Charlie smiled. It was first time Jesse'd seen Charlie smile. He had a good smile.  
  
"How's the family?" the doctor chuckled.  
  
"They're fine sir."  
  
"This is Jesse James," he motioned over to Jesse, who came forward and thrust out his hand towards the old man.  
  
"The great Jesse James, eh?" The man said mockingly and scowled. He had a Georgian drawl that flattered his words, making them sound soft and gentle, even though they weren't meant to be. Producing a folded newspaper from his arm he thrust it out towards Jesse, smacking him on the chest, a disappointed look on his face. "Don't look like much." He never reached to take his hand, Jesse's own hand slowly retracted down by his side again, laying against his pistol.  
  
"I keep pulling bullets out of men like you and for what? So you can go and harm another innocent? Your kind of people make me sick, nothing but going around scaring the dickens out of virtuous woman and children, killing people who haven't done so much as looked at you. Nothing but chicken shit wearing clothes and carrying six guns..."  
  
"If you'll step this way sir," Charlie cut in and led the doctor over to the buggy and helped him in, the buggy shifting on its wheels at the added weight, before he and Jesse climbed up into the front.  
  
"Will it be a long ride?" Dr. Fly stuck his head out of the door. "I'm only doing this for you and your family Charlie, not because I care."  
  
"Three hours at most sir." Charlie looked back then slapped the horses with the reigns, getting them into a trot.  
  
"He got a rock stuck up him or something?" Jesse glared back towards the buggy.  
  
"His wife and daughter were taken from him in a stagecoach robbery back in Chicago by a posse with some injuns. They were raped then got their skin cut off. They tried to take his skin too, but he woke up in the middle of it and killed them. That's why he's got them scars on his face."  
  
"What about yours?" Jesse asked and Charlie's face only fell as he turned away, staying silent. Covering for himself, Jesse went back on topic of the doctor. "Is he any good as a doctor?"  
  
"He doesn't let his emotions get in the way when he's doing his job, if that's what you mean." He looked back over to Jesse's unimpressed face. "He's good as anyone, Jesse," he sighed, "he use to be our family doctor until we moved out here."  
  
Jesse spit over the side of the coach. "You sure he's good?"  
  
"I swear." He looked over again, holding Jesse's gaze. "I'd trust him with my own sister."  
  
Jesse sat back as he scratched at his throat, feeling the dark whiskers hiss.  
  
~  
  
"Pardon the horse Dr. Fly." Charlie said as he led the old man around the stallion.   
  
"Drunk, or just stupid?" Asked the doctor irritatedly as they went up the stairs.  
  
"I was in a hurry," Jesse corrected gruffly as he followed them up the steps and into the house.  
  
~  
  
Dr. Fly shook his head, stooped over beside the bed with Frank's wrist held up in his pudgy white fingers as he turned it back and forth, looking at the wound. He mumbled to himself for a while before he set Frank's arm back against his side.   
  
Jesse was leaning against the back wall, his arms over his chest, watching intently. Charlie had his arm around Annie, who was chewing on a piece of her hair, watching Frank. Only the Colonel and Elsie weren't in the room presently.  
  
The old man sat back, reaching over to take a drink from his shot glass, tipping it into his thin lips. "Well, the bullet's still in there and needs to come out," he pulled at the covers down around Frank's waist, revealing the wounds that Annie had stripped and scrubbed clean before the doctor's arrival. "The best we can do here is bandage it and watch for any signs of infection, and here," he pulled the blankets further down, revealing the large hole cut out around his wound from his pants. He put a hand on the wound, poking gently, Frank's face twinging. "I think this will be the worse to get the bullet out. Sunk in pretty deep."  
  
The doctor moved his fingers across the bruises, walking them along the discolored, tender skin.  
  
"How's he besides?" Charlie asked.  
  
The doctor sat up as straight as he could with his crooked back on the stool, putting his large, forearms against his hips.  
  
"Dog might as well be dead," he sighed, "been through some mighty bad times."  
  
He turned to Jesse, who was clutching at Zee's necklace and staring hollowly at Frank's pale face. Noticing that all the faces in the room where on him, he straightened himself up from the wall, tucking the necklace back into his shirt, never saying anything.  
  
"Bullets could come out now, or tomorrow."   
  
"Depending on what?" Charlie asked.   
  
"On how many men I have to help me."  
  
Jesse stepped forward, claiming his participation.   
  
"Two sir," Charlie said, stepping up next to Jesse, glancing at him before turning back to the doctor.  
  
Dr. Fly frowned, then shook it from his face, "Alright then..."   
  
Pushing up on his rolled sleeves to make sure they were tight enough on his biceps, the doctor pulled the covers down completely to the end of the bed.  
  
"You ever done anything like this before?" Dr. Fly asked the boys as they moved to their positions around Frank.  
  
"Yes sir," Jesse said, but Charlie was shaking his head.  
  
"When?"  
  
"About seven weeks ago," he reached up to pull at his collar, revealing the wounds. "Had it done to myself."  
  
"You remember a lick of it?"  
  
"No."  
  
Dr. Fly turned back to Frank and lifted his arm to place it jack knifed over him, lying it on the pillows.   
  
"Miss Ford," the doctor looked to Annie, "you mind getting me one of them rags you had before and heating up some water for me?"  
  
"Sure," she pattered around, doing what was suggested to her before coming back. She replaced the big bowl with bloody, greasy water onto the top of the stove to let it warm up again.  
  
"Wake him up," he spoke and she came around towards Frank's head, leaning down to run a hand through his hair. She whispered in his ear and such, stroking his head as his eyelids fluttered open.  
  
"You've got some bullets in you that need to come out and they're going to hurt like all hell." The doctor said apathetically - his voice cold as he worked with a rag at the wounds, despite how Annie had done her best to scrub them down. Frank grunted at the pain, but was not given any remorse.  
  
"You, take his legs. Charlie, take his arm there. And Miss Ford, you take his hand there."  
  
Jesse slightly remembered something like this happening to him.  
  
"Put that rag there in his mouth," Annie had some trouble getting Frank to open his jaw, but when he did, she made sure he bit down hard on it.   
  
Then, without warning, the doctor's hands were digging around unceremoniously in Frank's wrist. Frank grunted in hateful surprise and began twisting around. His neck kept craning as the doctor's chubby hands worked their way deeper into his arm, touching bones and muscle.   
  
"Look at me, don't look down." Annie was putting her hand on the side of Frank's face, keeping him from seeing. She had her face up almost touching Frank's, making him look at her and only her.  
  
She grasped his other hand firmly, her knuckles white from his grip on her long, slender palm. The veins on the sides of his neck stood out like tree roots while his jaw looked like it was about to break itself with his teeth so tight on that rag.  
  
With a snap and a sucking sound, the doctor's gray hands came out of Frank's wrist with a round bullet pinched between his fingerpads. He dropped it onto the floor to have it roll against his boot, leaving a bloody trail when he suddenly and almost voraciously went into Frank's thigh, not giving any time for pain to dissipate.  
  
With Frank's reaction to this wound, he nearly sent both men flying across the room. And Jesse nearly dry heaved at the sight and the smell of it, having to turn loose of Frank's leg and put a hand up to his mouth. Charlie quickly went down to catch Frank's legs when they went to kick again.   
  
"Either do your job or get out!" The doctor was intent over the spillage of blood and sight of shattered muscle. And Jesse stumbled forward, regaining his stomach as he reached out and grabbed onto Frank's ankles again.  
  
"Up here boy!" The doctor yelled as something popped somewhere inside Frank and a spray of blood came up out of his leg, getting the doctor's white shirt and spraying so far as to splatter against Jesse's face. "My hands're too big to get it."  
  
Jesse found his breath caught in his throat as he moved up to help the doctor, who came out of his brother, grabbed his wrists and suddenly floundered Jesse's hands into his brother's thigh.  
  
Frank wasn't screaming, even through his clenched teeth, he didn't have enough breath or cogency to scream.  
  
Jesse had to turn away to keep from puking. "It's towards the back, I touched it but I couldn't get it." The doctor leaned back in his chair to give Jesse some room as he wiped at his hands with a towel.  
  
"Feel it?"  
  
Frank was shaking now, shivering like a dying man and Jesse could feel it from the inside of his brother. Through the muscles, and the juices, and the blood, he could feel Frank dying from the pain.  
  
"Wait," Jesse squeezed out of his teeth as his swimming fingers touched something, pushed it away and he had to shove his hand farther up to try and reach it, feeling like he was shoving his hand into a watermelon with the crust still on it.  
  
Pulling out, bullet in tow, Jesse produced a glob of muscle still attached to the bullets, wrapped around it and dusted black from the soot.  
  
Saliva leaked down the side of Frank's face, as his eyes closed and squeezed out tears. Charlie backed up off of his legs as he put his hands out for the swooning Jesse. But, righting himself, he stared discernibly at the gore wrapped bullet.  
  
"I take you can gauze him up?" Dr. Fly flat eyed Annie, who looked up momentarily from the side of Frank's wet head and she nodded, still stroking his hair, comforting him back to sleep again. "He should keep for the night."  
  
Grunting as he got up, the doctor went over and thrust his hands into the warmed bowl of water, forcing some to spill onto the floor. Wiping them down with a dirty towel, he went back over, gathered up his bag that he'd never opened and went towards the door, Charlie rushed to catch up to him.  
  
"What do we do now?" Charlie shut the door behind them, closing out the conversation.  
  
"I'd get that man and his brother as far away from this house as fast as you can." The doctor spoke quickly, walking quickly away from the room.  
  
"He's in no condition to be moved now." Charlie furrowed his eyebrows.  
  
"Doesn't matter." The doctor conceived. "Drop him at the hotel if you're so inclined, they'll hole him up there till they need to ride off again. Or, even better, drop them at the sheriff's station, they'd be happy as hell to get two of the South's most wanted men. But if you were smart, you'd bury them both out in the desert."  
  
"Thanks for you help Dr. Fly, I'll have your money sent to you by next week." Charlie put out a hand and stared at the gruff doctor until broke his rough shoulders.  
  
"Charlie, my boy, you've always cared too much..." the doctor broke into a smile and reached around, hugging him before pulling back, reaching into his bag and pulling out a blue bottle. "Give him three spoonfuls of this when he wakes up again and keep giving him liquid, but nothing with liquor. Change the dressings twice daily and call someone around for me if he takes on a fever, it'll mean infection. I'll be at the Black Hawk Inn, room 2."  
  
Charlie took the bottle and watched the doctor waddle down the stairs, before going back into the room.  
  
Frank had fallen into a sleep again, his leg and wrist and side gauzed and he was lying on face down, grunting. Jesse was sitting in a chair, staring at the gory bullet still clutched between his fingers, while Annie was on her hands and knees at the bottom of the stove, scrubbing at the bloodstains from the spilled water.  
  
"Jesse?" He looked up at Charlie's voice, pulling himself out of a sort of haze. "Would you help me? I've got to move that horse before it starts to bloat."  
  
Nodding slowly, Jesse pushed himself out of the chair and looked one last time to his brother, before he followed Charlie silently out the door. 


	13. Death and the Cello

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - Death and the Cello  
  
  
  
"Jesse?"   
  
He fidgeted at the sound of his name, grunting, but not opening his eyes. He didn't want to see the world that was there, it was covered in blood, and mud, and dead things.  
  
"Jesse honey, wake up. You have to listen to me..." Annie was at his shoulders, shaking him awake.  
  
He'd collapsed, fully clothed, on the bed after he'd come in from hauling the horse away. His arms were still covered in his brother's blood, now caked over from the mud that the rain had dredged up. The bottoms of his pants were heavy with dirt, streaking his face, the rain still having not let up.  
  
"Jesse." Annie shook him hard, "wake up, now." And with a cough, he sat up, awkward to find his place on the edge of the bed, rubbing at his eyes with his gore-caked fists, until Annie pulled them away.  
  
The skin around her eyes was red and raw, her eyes shining more so than ever with the big coating of waxy tears renewing their sheen every time she blinked. She gripped in fists together in one hand as she reached up and tried to clean away the stains from his eyes with her thumb.   
  
"Jesse, there's something I need to tell you..."  
  
He jerked his head away from her fingers, not liking the quiver in her voice when she spoke, how low and hollow it sounded.   
  
Annie bent down and kissed his knuckles, smelling his hands and the toil that coated them, trying to hold back the pressing tears. "Something's happened..."  
  
His back became rigid as his jaw clenched tight to his skull. "What happened?" he spoke slowly.  
  
"Your brother's bleeding..." She had to wipe the warm tears away from her cheek, turning loose of his hands again.  
  
Jesse stood up fast, ripping his hands loose from her grip.  
  
"Jesse," she called after him as he turned by the door, facing her with his eyebrows shoveling above his nose. She was curled over herself on the floor, kissing her own hand, the tears coming fast now. "He's not going to make it..."  
  
"You're lying." He didn't believe.  
  
"Why would I lie to you Jesse?" she asked, sniffing back to keep the dribble from her soft pallet.  
  
"You're killing him," he came forward and took her up by the throat. She gave a surprised shriek as he slammed her back against the wall, holding her up by the neck.  
  
Her breath was quick and scared, her hands clawing at his strong fingers, trying to get them to loosen. Her feet kicked against the wall, sometimes hitting his shins, her face terrified.  
  
"Jesse....please stop....stop Jesse.....please..." her words were choked, each breath of air she gave out, the tighter he would curl his hands. "....stop...Jesse....please...." the tears ran down over the backs of his hands, swirling down his dirty arms. The dried mud and blood scathed her soft neck, leaving streaks of red fresh when she struggled.  
  
"He's not dying..." he said, angrily, evenly, a glint in his eyes. "If he dies, you die..."  
  
She couldn't speak anymore, the pressure on her larynx was too great. If he didn't let go soon, she'd pass out. One of her hands went down to her apron, shaking fingers digging through her pockets, the light around her was hemming gray, closing in on Jesse's face, the only thing she could see.  
  
"Stop..." she mouthed, his fingers biting into her spine making her breaths feel sour on her tongue. Then, with a lapse of energy, she pulled up and jabbed her sewing scissors in his forearm.  
  
He cried out as he dropped her to the floor, her hands going toward her throat, protecting it as she coughed back into consciousness.   
  
Jesse looked to the scissors, shoved handle deep into his arm, before he gripped them and ripped them out clean, tossing them at her. They stuck in the wall, dripping blood as he turned to the door once more, heading for his brother.   
  
Charlie and the littlest sister were next to the bed when he came into the room, hiding Frank. Both their heads were bowed, Charlie's hands up as if he were reading, then as Jesse burst through the door, he figured it out.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" He broke his way through the people, shoving Charlie back against the wall, away from the bed in the midst of a prayer. The book fell from his hands, the binding cracking in half as it hit the floor.   
  
"Jesse." Annie spoke softly, catching up and pushing past her siblings. She reached out to grab his arm, bruising showing on her neck. "There's nothing we can do for him." Her voice was hoarse and thin from the choking, Charlie peering wearily at her, then to Jesse, noticing the wound on his arm.   
  
"The hell you can't," Jesse snuffed and went down next to his brother. "Frank?" He pulled back the covers, revealing the biggest plume of blood Jesse'd ever seen. One that spilt out over the side of the bed and went dripping onto the floor, creating a puddle.  
  
It had been true.  
  
"Hey Jesse..." Frank said weakly, getting a sad smile from Jesse. His voice was so light and wispy; it was as if he were to talk any louder, his blue lips would break. "Looks pretty bad, huh?" He grunted, a pain going through him as he tried to turn onto his side, but didn't make it.  
  
Jesse shook his head, but Frank knew he was lying, from the tears coming forward in his eyes, his body quivering.  
  
"It feels worse..." and Frank smiled and hitched again and wheezed, his eyes trying to close on him. "All I asked for was to get a few bullets out of me...not the whole spit shine deal..." Frank seemed to sink deeper into the bed as he let out a heavy painful sigh, his eyes finally winning and closing. "The whole Bible thing's a bit much, don't you think?..."  
  
Jesse's lip trembled as he squeezed Frank's hand, wanting a squeeze back that would never come. Instead, Frank's hand went up and grabbed hold of his collar, bringing Jesse's ear down next to his lips.  
  
"I'm gonna take good care of ma for you, alright?" Frank whispered like it was being pushed out of him by a pile of railroad ties on his chest. And with his last bit of strength, he flung his arm up another inch and cupped the side of Jesse's face, smiling at it once more, before it slid away, splashing into his own blood puddle.  
  
Jesse rocked back as if he'd taken a blow to the gut, landing on his rump, as a shaking hand went up to his head. Tears welled in his eyes as he grabbed a fistful of his hair, staring at his brother's pale face. He couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe.  
  
"Jesse?" the words were whispered, but they struck him like a thunderclap and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Hurtling to his feet he crashed backward into the wall, clattering plates, his hand still at his skull, holding his hair.  
  
His knees tried to buckle on him and he sunk some before righting himself, his shoulders and his arms shaking until he looked at his brother once more. His mouth lax, his lips blue, his eyes closed...  
  
He had to get out of here.  
  
He sprinted across the room, faster than he ever thought he could move and vaulted clean over the railing around the steps. He went down the stairs five at a time and broke out into the hallway of the house, turning hard and sliding around corners. One corner he almost crashed into the Colonel. Who raised his cane to give Jesse a swat, but missed entirely.  
  
"Jesse!" Charlie was chasing after him, but he would never catch up.  
  
Before he realized it he was sprinting full speed down the lane, veering towards the barn.  
  
He threw his shoulder into the door, full force, the wood around the lock cracking clean off as the doors screamed open, getting surprised shrieks from the horses and a nasty squawk from the chickens.  
  
He looked to the first hose in the stable, a tall golden horse with a pale, ghostlike face and wide blue eyes. It was one of the horses that they'd used to move Jesse's, still fixed with a bit and reigns, stamping as Jesse came towards it. It was a beautiful horse, his horse now.  
  
He flung the gate open, the horse shaking its head and stamping back when Jesse came forward so fast, shaken. His hair was plastered flat to his head from the rain, the weather having cleaned some of the grime from his clothes.  
  
He jumped with one foot against the wall, propelling him, as he flipped around and landed cleanly with his legs around the horse's saddleless back, taking up the reigns and giving them a slap.  
  
The horse kicked out of its barracks, blowing milk through its nostrils as Jesse's tight thighs rode its flanks.  
  
The doors exploded outward, sending a firework display of molting, tumbling, screaming chickens at the horse's hard hooves as it burst through the door, jerked down the lane, away from the house.  
  
"Where are you going?!" Charlie called after him, his shirt sticking to his body as the rain pounded his shoulders, bringing his foot chase to a halt.  
  
But he didn't turn back, only pointed the horse back to Black Hawk, his arm bleeding, his mind spinning, and the horse's body horizontal between his knees.  
  
He left his dead brother behind, left the girls huddled up on the porch, and left Charlie standing in the rain. 


	14. Fallen While Stumbling

hey look. it's me! woohoo! i'm making a comeback (sort of...) for all those who've been waiting, lots of luv and apologies!  
  
CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Fallen While Stumbling  
  
The first whiskey had tasted good, burning all the way down his throat to light a fire in his belly. The next thirteen had put him out of his misery.  
  
Jesse sat slumped over the table, his legs twisted beneath his chair, shot glasses strewn about the table with his head in his arms, his eyes closed. Then there was a tap at his shoulders, he sat up, eyes bleary with tears and alcohol as he saw a pretty woman standing next to him, a small, tight dress cupping her sky lit breasts, a shoddy shawl pulled about her skinny shoulders. Her black hair was slicked down against her head, her skinny body bleeding the smell of vanilla.  
  
She slid down into his lap, taking his face by his chin and poking her lips out. "You looking for a good time? They saved me special for you." Her accent sounded French as she jiggled her chest in front of him, lulling his eyes drunkenly to her skin.  
  
He wasn't, but he didn't tell her that.  
  
"You're not cold?" She was sitting, barely dressed, on his wet lap, his own skin standing out in gooseflesh beneath the sticking fabric.   
  
"Are you kidding?" she asked, wrapping her arms about him, pressing his face up against her. "With a radiator like you?" She touched her forehead with the back of her hand dramatically, drawing it down the side of her obtrusive jaw. "Oh, you make me sweat..."  
  
Her voice was husky and thin, parched for a drink, but instead, she poured him another one. "You want to go upstairs and tell me about your troubles?" she offered, lifting the glass to his lips, tipping it up so that he drank.  
  
"No..." He pushed the cup away, water hardening in his eyes and cracking his cheeks as he let the side of his head settle down against the top of her chest, his eyes closing. "I just want to sit here..."  
  
She looked about the bar, surprised and somewhat embarrassed by his reaction, when her eyes fell upon the dark pair of eyes that had sent her. They were close and even, eyebrows tipped above them, lingering dark out of the shadows. A many ringed hand was up on the top of a cane, clicking as he thrummed his fingers.  
  
The woman turned back to him, stroking his hair as if nothing was wrong. "What's your name...?" she asked, leaning down close to his head, pulling on her shawl. She spoke as if to a broken puppy, her lipstick stuck lips pursing at the words.  
  
"Jesse," he breathed in her vanilla, wanting nothing more than to drown in it and lose himself. "Jesse James."  
  
The woman turned back to the eyes, nodding her head.  
  
The fingers stopped thrumming, as the man leaned forward, into the light. He was broad shouldered with a mess of light brown, curly hair on the top of his head, a dark rash of stubble across most of his chin. He was handsome, devilishly handsome with dark, fiery eyes. He was dressed proper, noosed with a tan, rumpled ascot, smudged with lipstick. He wore a long sleeved scarlet shirt with a button down bib beneath an open gray vest. Furry chaps covered his legs while rusted spurs cradled his feet against the floor, their teeth biting into the wood.  
  
If Jesse'd been looking, he would have seen that he'd seen this man before. It was Robert.  
  
With a flick of his wrist, the woman turned back to Jesse and began to slide off his leg. "I must go now..." she spoke quickly, gathering up her shawl and resting his head back down against the table.  
  
There was tapping against the floor, the soft clinking of frozen spurs as the man from the corner came forward, his cane tapping with his boots. He reached out and touched Jesse's shoulder.  
  
"You gutless scum sucker," he pulled Jesse hard so that he flipped over in the chair, his legs becoming even more of a tangle as his eyes flashed open, glaring at the man who had him by the shirt. He squinted hard through the whiskey before the face came to him, the dim lights hiding the bruises from the fight. "You come back for more?"  
  
He heaved Jesse up by his collar, getting him to his feet as his head loafed to his shoulder, having a hard time finding stiffness in his whiskey-soaked muscles.  
  
"Why don't you leave me alone?" Jesse asked fluidly, putting his hands on the man's wrists, in an effort to get them to turn loose of him.  
  
"And why don't you jump in a bucket o' shit? Worlds full of wishes, ain't it?" Robert sneered. "Heard your brother's dying..."  
  
That got Jesse' blood going and he swung low, aiming for Robert's belly and missing completely.   
  
"You wanna fight Robert," yelled the barkeep from the top of his broom, "you take it outside. You done cost me too much money tryin' ta fix up this place as it is..."  
  
Robert turned, with a broad, toothy grin and tipped his head at the keep, obliging.  
  
"Very well," he said, "let's take this matter outside." A couple of his drunk buddies got up from the dark table and came around him, grabbing Jesse by the shoulders, as Robert led the way outside.  
  
Robert stepped regally off the boardwalk, stepping out onto the muddy road, his clothes immediately soaked by the rain. Jesse, unceremoniously, was thrown into the road from his shoulders, tumbling until he stopped; lying on his back, facing up to the sky.   
  
"You know, you're some kind of lousy snake shit to threaten my family and expect help in return..." Robert took out his stiletto from his side, the blade shining in the wet, sticky moonlight as he twisted it around, letting the gathered folks admire it too.  
  
The ladies of Black Hawk with their gentlemen in arm stopped on the boardwalks, liking the idea of a midnight shootout in the rain. Whispers were among them that the stranger was Jesse James, but none of them could be too sure.   
  
"You and me got some unfinished business to settle." Robert seethed as he watched Jesse work his way up to his feet again, vainly brushing off the mud.  
  
"I don't want to fight you." Jesse tilted sideways, heavy from the booze, but stayed where he was in the street, facing Robert.  
  
"I wanna fight you though." Robert ran his palm through his hair, his chaps hanging wet and heavy on his legs, fastening him to the ground.  
  
"I asked you nicely..." Jesse said.  
  
"You keep on askin' huckleberry." Robert grinned over his stiletto, running it beneath his fingernail before shoving it back into its sheathe on his belt. "Someday someone'll hear you."  
  
"You don't want to do this..." Jesse warned as he kept his knees from buckling, knowing that he'd left his guns back at the house. They were still wherever Charlie had put them.  
  
Robert smiled widely at the threat, a thundering laugh exiting his belly as he leaned back to accommodate it. "You never cease, do you boy? Get this man a gun!" His fingers fell against his ivory pistol butts, engraved with his initials, R.F.  
  
A large, long rifle was thrown from the darkness and Jesse caught it out of the air easily, letting the new weight settle into his fingers.  
  
Robert reached into both of his holsters and pulled out his guns, weighing them in his hands, testing them, before he put one back away, finding his favorite.  
  
"That suit you?"  
  
"Not my favorite. But it'll do." Jesse spit and sighted the loaned gun.  
  
"No draw, full aim on three, one bullet." Robert proposed the rules of the fight, rolling the chamber of his gun back and forth along his arm, liking the click, click, click. "Torso and head gets you twenty points, limbs get you ten; point reduction depending on how far away from your heart they are. Sound fair?"  
  
"Fair enough." Jesse tilted his head, cracking his neck. As he gave his rifle a once over check. It was heavy in his arms, sticky from the mud on his hands as he held it aloft to check the alignment, then let it rest back down against the side of his leg.  
  
"Moscoe counts." Robert jerked a thumb to one of his drink buddies, who stood rolling on the porch, ogling a large breasted woman when he turned and saluted, stepping off the boardwalk and coming around the hitching post, patting a near horse on the side.  
  
"I'd be quite a dandy to it, sir." Moscoe said stupidly and tipped his too big hat and spit a nasty glob from his toothless mouth, some sticking in his down turned handlebar mustache.  
  
Robert breathed slow, talking beneath his breath. "Hello twenty..."  
  
"One."   
  
Jesse licked his lips intently, stepping sideways with his head turned to face Robert, who'd done the same, mirroring him.   
  
"Two." Jesse's fingers thrummed against the hard wood, becoming slick in the washing rain. Robert's fingers did the same at his pistol ends, pulling them back to kiss it gently.  
  
"Three."  
  
They both fired.  
  
That's when the rifle exploded in his face, burning his eyes and searing an orange ball through his mind. He felt a hot pain graze over his arms, clunk up against the gun and ricochet right across the bridge of his nose, slicing up his forehead and knocking his head back.  
  
He screamed as the pain hit him full force in the face, searing his brain as the heavy rifle dropped from his hands.   
  
And the crowd gasped in surprise and delight as both the men hit the ground. 


	15. The Color of a Newborn

i can't apologize enough for all the waiting i've made you people do, i'm so sorry, i promise to finish up my stories as soon as possible so you don't have to bear my laziness anymore! love to all!

CHAPTER FIFTEEN – The Color of a Newborn  
  
"Charlie, I'm coming." There was sternness in her voice, the tone that only someone who'd known her for a long time could turn down.  
  
"You're not. You'd do better here looking after Frank. Trust me Annie, we'll be back in a minute. Let's go." Charlie turned to a young boy who was out of breath standing next to him, blowing great swelling pants into his hat, trying to retain composure in front of the lady.  
  
Charlie took the boy by the shoulder and flipped him around, following quick-heeled behind him.  
  
Pounding down the stairs, Charlie snatched his coat on the way out and shouldered it on as they ran towards the stamping, soaking horse haphazardly tied to the railing of the deck. With a quick step, Charlie was up in the saddle and a sweep of his hand brought up the boy behind him when he'd untangled the reigns. With a swift kick, he twisted the horse and they took off down the lane, spraying up mud.  
  
By the time they reached town there was a throng of people gathered in two large, wet clumps. Fair ladies craned their long fragrant necks from the boardwalks while less than decadent men ruffled boots around in the mud, soaking in the rain.  
  
Charlie brought the horse to a hasty stop, its hooves sliding a bit in the muck as Charlie dismounted asking, "what happened?" the boy explained, yelling over the rain with his hat brim pulled down to keep it out of his large ears.  
  
"Mr. James'd been drinking when your brother started a fight with him. They went out here and had a shootout, but the gun Mr. James'd had was messed up and it exploded in his face."  
  
Charlie peeled through the people, keeping his ear cocked to hear the story from the following boy. As the people parted, Charlie saw Robert twisting in the mud, curled about a twist of wet limbs. Charlie stooped and came down on his knees next to his brother. "Robert?"  
  
Robert's eyes flashed open, "Charlie?"  
  
"Where are you hit?" Charlie followed his brother's clutching hands to his thigh and pressed his hands over them, making his brother grunt. "We're going to get you to Doc Fry, hang on." Charlie raised his head against the rain and searched the chalky faces to find the boy's. When he locked eyes, he spoke solely to him, "go find a blanket." The boy nodded, turned, and dove into the crowd. The boy returned soon after, hauling a large woven blanket across his arms. Charlie grabbed it and brought it down around his brother, lifting his head and shoulders from the mud with a large schluck sound and the higher he rose, the more he wrapped the blanket about him until he was standing and bulky. "Move!" Charlie commanded the crowd and in awe they parted, either nodding or shaking their heads in contempt as the two men passed. On the outside of the crowd, Charlie found the boy again and leaned over to speak to him softly, "take him to Black Hawk Inn, ask for Doctor Fly, he's in Room Two." The boy nodded and began to take Robert's burden when the man shrugged back, nearly falling. "Where are you going?" he asked almost vehemently.  
  
"I'll be back…" Charlie let his voice trail as he turned, inept on the other group of people gathered about the front of the bar's boardwalk. The stranded group from Robert's audience now found there way over to the boardwalk as well, becoming a swelling, mumbling mass of wet leather.  
  
Charlie shouldered his way through, the people becoming more hunched the closed he got to the front, until finally he met a row of people on their hands and knees, peering under the boardwalk. Kicking a large man in the butt, the man rose with a smoky beard and a keen stare. "he's under there no doubt, crowd moved him there." The man moved aside as Charlie went down on his hands and knees, peering into the darkness. "Jesse?"  
  
A boot flashed out of the darkness, narrowly missing Charlie's nose and chaotically retreating. "Don't touch me! Get away from me!" The foot recoiled into the darkness, the soft shine of cloth barely seen before disappearing.  
  
Suddenly, there was massive thumping overhead and Jesse made a sound like an agonized scream before yelling his warnings again. Charlie snapped up, flinging water and seeing a couple of little boys jumping up and down on the creaking boards.  
  
"Hey!" he yelled, the little boys gasping in delight as they ran away. Charlie ducked back under and tested putting his shoulders under the walk, at full target should Jesse strike out again. "Jesse, it's me Charlie."  
  
"I can't see Charlie…I can't see."  
  
"Come out of there and I'll help you."  
  
"Don't touch me…"  
  
"I'm not going to touch you. Your brother Jesse…"  
  
This perked Jesse's attention and Charlie could see another soft flash of clothing in the darkness when he moved. "What about him?"  
  
"He's alive Jesse, he's going to be alright."  
  
"Are you lying?" There was a sadness in his voice, sounding wet, broken, and drunk.  
  
"No Jesse, I swear on the Bible…"  
  
"Don't touch me and I'll get out…" came his soft voice.  
  
"Alright." Charlie began to retreat from the blackness, backing out ass-end into the consuming people. As his head came out, he ordered them back. They took maybe one or two steps back but then came forward again, intent on seeing the criminal come out.  
  
After a while, Jesse emerged, his hands scraping through the mud, one clutched up about his face. And as it hit the light, some privy women screamed.  
  
His flesh was black, the front of his hair frizzed and blood dripping down his neck and staining his collar. As his upper body emerged, Charlie swooped in and grabbed Jesse up, cradling his head into his chest as he brought him to his feet. With one arm wrapped about Jesse's wet, shaking frame and the other clutching Jesse's face against his chest, Charlie made their way through the thrumming crowd, standing slack-jawed and barely doing more than turning on heel as they passed.  
  
The crowd seemed to press back at the thought of touching the two men, making the break into the openness seem odd and unnatural.  
  
"I can't see…" Jesse mumbled into Charlie's shirt.  
  
"I know," Charlie whispered with his head dipped, "does it hurt?"  
  
"No…" Jesse's legs slid and slipped and hung heavy from the bottom of his torso.  
  
"We're gonna get you home and take care of you, alright? Back with your brother."  
  
"Frank." It felt secure to say his name, knowing he wasn't dead.  
  
"Thanks Charlie…" Jesse's words were barely a mumble, they were a convulsion of his tongue more than anything.  
  
"Sure Jesse," Charlie comforted, not knowing what he said, "sure."


End file.
